


Dirty Valentine

by oliverdalstonbrowning



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Comfort/Angst, Developing Friendships, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, High School, High School! AU, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 76,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8099296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning
Summary: In an attempt to reconcile his past, Thranduil is determined to make his final year of high school count. But when Bard arrives to shake things up, they are both offered a fresh new perspective on friendship, love, and what it means to forgive yourself.





	1. first day

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a rewrite of an old fic that I was working on last year, under the same title, and I'm really excited for it.  
>   
> I made a last-minute decision and didn't actually set this fic anywhere in real life. I don't want it to expand beyond high schools, and I didn't want it to conform to any specific kind of school system. I'm basically cherry-picking the best parts of (mostly western) school systems. If anything, it leans closer to how Australian schools are organised (which is probably a rare occurrence in fanfiction). I hope it isn't too confusing.  
>   
> The title and chapter openings all belong to Richard Siken.  
>   
> I also fiddled around with families a bit to benefit the story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil meets the new guy and gets coerced into school tradition.

 

* * *

  

**_"I'm sorry. We know how it works. The world is no longer mysterious."_ **

 

* * *

 

 

Rhovanion College was crawling with students again. Through the iron gates and out onto its wide, sweeping courtyard, they milled about in the shade of its main building, tossing heavy bags onto the steps and digging through the bushes for cigarette stashes, left abandoned in the wake of the summer-holiday excitement.

    But the holidays were over now. The bright, carefree summer would soon be replaced with a brown and windy autumn, and the Year 12’s at Rhovanion would be neck-deep in schoolwork to prepare for their end-of-year exams.

    Thranduil joined the throng inside the college, winding his way through overexcited junior girls and jeering mid-year boys. From the midst of one group of seniors, a girl with a pink ribbon in her hair waved to Thranduil when she saw him. He returned it as he passed, managing a small smile.

    Save for the occasional glance, he was ignored by the other students, until he reached a party of boys near the main steps, blurring a football between them. One of them spotted him, and he was snatched from the courtyard and arrested into a headlock.

    Thranduil fought for a moment, his school bag swinging off his shoulder and thudding to the ground.

    “Get off, Glorfindel!” he cried.

    Glorfindel released him, grinning breathlessly. Thranduil scowled, rubbing his neck as he slung his bag back onto his shoulder.

    “I didn't see you all summer!” Glorfindel exclaimed, catching the football from one of the other boys and tossing it between his hands. “Why don’t you ever reply to my texts?”

    Thranduil shrugged awkwardly. “I was busy.”

    Glorfindel scoffed, dropping the ball to his feet. “You’re so full of shit. I mean, I don’t mind that you never want to hang out, but you have to humour me. You could have died on top of James Joyce in the library for all I knew.”

    “How do you know it was James Joyce?” Thranduil said.

    “You posted a photo on Instagram. You know, for such a shut-in, you have a serious following going on there.”

    “Yeah, yeah. How was your summer?”

    Glorfindel practically swooned, his wild hair dancing about his face. “Wicked. We went down to Ecthelion's holiday house and slept on the beach and stuff. It was like a dream. Like a proper summer, you know?”

    “Not really,” said Thranduil absently. “Who’s ‘we?’”

    “Oh, you know, Elrond and his lot. But Nimrodel came too, and so did Feren and Lethuin.” Glorfindel indicated two of the boys behind him who were adjusting their school uniforms, for it was nearly time for class and they were only half-dressed for the occasion.

    “That sounds fun,” Thranduil said tonelessly.

    “You should have come with us,” said Glorfindel. “We met the new guy.”

    “New guy?”

    “Yeah! Bard.”

    “Okay. What about him?”

    “He’s – I don’t know – he’s cool. You’ll know what I mean when you meet him,” said Glorfindel.

    The bell rang then, and the students began to file into the building, their chatter and footsteps echoing through the wide, linoleum halls. Everyone between years 7 and 10 traipsed to the east wing, while the senior year's went west. Thranduil fell into the line with Glorfindel and the boys from his football team. They gradually separated, however, finding the Form rooms they belonged to. Thranduil abandoned Glorfindel, even though they were in the same class, and sat closer to the front while Glorfindel and the others congregated noisily at the back. Thranduil was never expected to sit with them, and he didn’t believe his company was wanted either way. He was not good at maintaining friendships, and he did not really fit in anywhere. Even calling Glorfindel his friend was stretching it.

    As they waited for their Form teacher to arrive, Thranduil received a text message. Under the desk, he opened his phone to view the photo that had been sent. It was of two children, a boy and a girl, holding hands outside a school gate in their uniforms. Thranduil smiled at it and saved the photo to his phone.     

    “– try out for the team?”

    Thranduil turned around at the sound of Glorfindel’s excited tone. He was talking to someone Thranduil did not recognise – a boy with a dark hair and easy graces, leaning back in his chair and chewing gum. Through a sheet of his hair, Thranduil watched the two of them talking, smiles on their faces, teeth white and eyes sparkling. Glorfindel had been desperate for new members to join the school football team after one of the boys lost their leg in a freak chainsaw accident the previous year.

    “I’ve never been on a school team before,” the new boy was saying. “Who’s the captain?”

    “I am,” Glorfindel said. “If you’re any good, you have to come to tryouts!”

    The boy nodded. Then, his gaze suddenly shifted and he was looking at Thranduil, having sensed he was being stared at. Thranduil started and turned to face the front again, where the teacher had mercifully arrived, shuffling into the room with a briefcase and a very large take-away coffee. After the roll was called and timetables assigned, Thranduil dared another look at the new guy, but his attention was once again captured by Glorfindel.

    Examining his new timetable, Thranduil saw that his first class that day was Literature, for a double period. When the bell signalled the end of Form, he hurried to his locker to discard the books he didn’t need. Then, he sprinted to the Language rooms on the other side of the school in time for his lesson.

    Literature was not a popular subject for senior students. Rhovanion was a school dominated by sports and science curriculums, so the Literature class for the Year 12’s was held in one of the smallest classrooms and comprised of only a dozen students, everyone else having stuck to the Standard English class to fulfil the literacy requirement. To his dismay, Thranduil was forced to take the last remaining seat next to the new guy, who was bouncing his legs under the table distractedly, snapping his gum. He spared Thranduil a glance and seemed to remember him, but did not say anything.

    Thranduil scoured their shared desk for something with the boy’s name on it, unable to remember what Glorfindel had called him. But he had not labelled anything he owned – in fact, he owned very little to be labelled at all. The only materials he had in front of him were two books and a pen.

    Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort to find out who he was, Thranduil ignored the boy next to him for the remainder of the class. He concentrated instead on reading the first book for that year; _Metamorphoses,_ by Ovid.

    Thranduil had already read it during the summer break, along with all the other assigned books, and found it easier to understand than he had expected. However, he couldn’t help but notice that the boy next to him was struggling. He was reading a very old, battered copy of the text and used his fingers to follow the words. Thranduil and the other students were already several pages in, but Thranduil figured that, if this boy had chosen Literature, he was evidently prepared to take on the workload no matter how hard it was for him.

    At the end of the lesson, Thranduil copied down that week’s homework from the board and gathered his things. The boy next to him sighed heavily, stretched, and said;

    “I had no idea this class would assign such difficult books to read.”

    Thranduil looked at him. “Why did you sign up for it then?”

    He frowned. “I knew Standard English would be boring… but I have a bad feeling this class will be too hard to be interesting.”

    “Well, it’s not too late to transfer,” Thranduil said, catching up his bag.

    “Nah, I’m determined.”

    Thranduil shrugged and left the classroom without saying goodbye. He spent recess in the library to finish reading the first book of _Metamorphoses_ , using a pencil to make small notes in the margins. Outside, the sun was rising and flushing the faces of students lounging on the oval, or at benches by the cafeteria. Thranduil could hear their chatter and shrieks from inside the library, which was kept cool by its heavy bricking and stained-glass windows. It always reminded him of an old chapel, now crammed to bursting with books.

    “I heard you’re doing Extended Investigation this year, Thranduil.”

    Looking up from his book, Thranduil came face-to-face with Elenwë, one of the few teachers who taught only senior students at Rhovanion. She smiled at him from behind her glasses.

    “Yeah,” said Thranduil. “I’m surprised it was continuing this year.”

    “It will be a small class, but enough to justify running it. Since it doesn’t cost much, we’re allowed to grant an exception to the few students who want to do it.” Elenwë sighed happily. “I’m looking forward to see what last year’s top student will write his thesis on.”

    Thranduil grinned sheepishly. “I haven’t decided yet. We don’t start doing research until next term, right?”

    Elenwë nodded. “Yes, but it doesn’t hurt to start thinking about it now. The more time you give yourself, the better.”

    Recess ended and Elenwë gave Thranduil a friendly wave goodbye. He put his blazer back on and went to his locker to get his Chemistry and Global Politics books.

    Leaving the west wing, he spotted the new guy lining up behind other students outside the Senior Coordinator’s office, clutching his already crumpled timetable and bouncing on his toes to see over the tops of heads. Seeing him this way, Thranduil thought he was oddly proportioned, even for a teenager. He was tall, and rather lanky, but not enough to suggest he was on the skinny-side of boyhood. This was emphasised strangely by the grey-and-green school uniform, which did not suit him at all. Overall, he just looked out-of-place, and Thranduil felt a pang of pity for him. It must be hard to be the new kid without any friends.

    Yet he was also a little mortified to realise that he had somehow caught the new guy’s attention. He abandoned the line and ran up to Thranduil, his expression hopeful.

    “My next class is Chemistry,” he said. “Do you know which room it’s in?”

    Thranduil hesitated a second before nodding, resigning himself to the fact that he was to have at least two classes with this boy. He seemed okay, but Thranduil was uncertain as to where Glorfindel’s enthusiasm had come from. He was just like any other student, if a bit too keen to be a student at all.

    “I’m Bard, by the way,” he said as they walked out into the courtyard.

    “I’m Thranduil,” said Thranduil.

    “Oh, hey, you’re Glorfindel’s friend, right?” Bard said.

    “Um, I guess so,” Thranduil muttered, surprised that Glorfindel still considered him as such, and even so far as to mention him to a stranger over the summer.

    He could see that Bard was expecting him to say more, but Thranduil remained silent as they made their way to the other side of the school.

    “Do you have a class in here too?” said Bard, pushing open one of the double doors to the hospital-like corridors of the science wing.

    “I take Chemistry as well,” Thranduil replied.

    “Really? Do you mind if I sit next to you again? I don’t really know anyone well enough yet.”

    Reluctantly, Thranduil nodded again. He wasn’t opposed to sitting next to people he didn’t know, but he was starting to feel quite overwhelmed by Bard, who was coming off a bit puppy-like, positively bouncing up and down the corridor to the chemistry lab.

    Glorfindel was already inside when they entered, sitting with Ecthelion at one of the lab tables set for four. He flagged Bard and Thranduil down with a wave and they went over to him.

    “Hey, you met Bard,” he said, grinning at Thranduil.

    “Yes, I did,” Thranduil said, unable to hide the entirety of his indifference.  

    “I didn’t know you were in Chemistry,” Glorfindel said to Bard.

    “Yeah, it was kind of last minute because I didn’t know I had to choose a science subject. I had to give up Philosophy. This school is really weird about that,” Bard said.

    “Yeah, I don’t know why that is. I only chose Chemistry because it’s what I did last year and I haven’t got the stomach for Bio. What other subjects are you taking?”

    “P.E, Lit, Food Tech, Advanced Math, and Ancient History,” Bard recited, checking them off on his fingers as he went.

    Thranduil sighed quietly to himself. Ancient History meant he and Bard would be sharing one other class together. This normally wouldn’t bother him, but it apparently appeared to Bard that Thranduil was, on some level, his friend now, meaning Thranduil would be forced to reckon with the sociability that came with that (something he was not in the habit of). He found that having any kind of a relationship with a classmate just made it hard for him to concentrate on the work. He hoped it wasn't too late to shake Bard off.

    “Advanced Math?” Ecthelion repeated incredulously, speaking up for the first time. “I heard only eight students got in this year.”

    “Really? I just took the entrance exam and they let me in no problem,” Bard said.

    Ecthelion whistled impressively. “You must really know your stuff.”

    It turned out that Bard did, in fact, know his stuff. Unlike the previous class, he thrived in Chemistry, answering questions first and laughing with the others around him. Thranduil tried to pay him as little attention as possible, but Bard was easy to befriend and fast to crack jokes with the teacher. By the time the class was over, he was surrounded by peers, and Thranduil was left alone to clean up the table before his next class. He did not complain. He only wondered what people saw in Bard to make them like him so much.

    Thranduil put it out of his mind. He doubted the hype surrounding Bard would last more than a few weeks. New students were only exciting until the teachers started reminding everyone about exams and setting piles upon piles of homework.  

    After Global Politics and lunch, Thranduil had his last two periods free. Students were permitted to leave campus and go home in a situation like this, but Thranduil went to the library to start on his Chemistry homework. He took his usual place by one of normal, open windows, spreading out his books and answering the assigned questions.

    Ten minutes before the bell was scheduled to ring, he went to his locker and left campus, his feet echoing gently in the empty courtyard, where the hushed silence right before the end of the day surmounted all other silences.

    Rhovanion College was near its primary school equivalent where Thranduil’s siblings went. He walked the short distance down the street, his bag bouncing against his hip with his blazer hanging on the top. He arrived just in time for the bell and waited outside the gates for Legolas and Tauriel.

    They came pelting from the main building, their too-big backpacks bouncing on their shoulders and shoelaces untied. Though she was the youngest, Tauriel outstripped Legolas and reached Thranduil first, colliding into his legs at full speed.

    “Thranduil! Look at what I drew today!” she squeaked, pushing a piece of paper into his hands.

    Thranduil examined the drawing, which he hazarded a guess was supposed to be a zoo full of animals, barely discernible among the crayon scribble.

    “I love it,” he said solemnly, holding it up to the light. “Did you enjoy your first day?”

    Tauriel nodded vigorously. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Legolas interrupted, determined to outshine her.

    “I learned how to do times-tables,” he squawked.

    Thranduil raised an eyebrow, kneeling down to tie Tauriel’s shoelace. “Oh yeah? I bet it was easy for you, being a big-shot second year and all.”

    “Give me a sum,” Legolas demanded.

    “Six-times-seven,” said Thranduil, standing up and taking the lead out of the school gate and down the path to the bus stop.

    Legolas chewed his lips feverishly as he concentrated. He raised his hands to use his fingers, but Thranduil smacked them away.

    “No fingers.”

    Legolas looked mutinous, but shoved his hands into his pockets to avoid temptation. They had almost reached the bus stop when he finally said.

    “Forty-two!”

    Tauriel gasped dramatically.

    “Correct!” said Thranduil, ruffling Legolas’ hair.

    “Bus!” said Tauriel.

    Thranduil turned to look down the street and saw the bus trundling towards them on the road. With a pang of annoyance, he realised it would be packed with students. Normally, when he picked up Legolas from school, they would catch the bus that came after the school one because Thranduil would always arrive fifteen minutes after the bell. He supposed he would have to endure the ruckus on Mondays, or else leave when the bell rang despite his free periods.

    The bus stopped and they squeezed themselves on board, getting on through the back door because the front was already too full. Tauriel, who had never caught the bus from school before, was so amazed that Thranduil was afraid her eyes would pop out of their sockets.

    “Hey, Thranduil!”

    As the bus lurched back onto the road, Thranduil looked around for the source of his name. He spotted Glorfindel up the back, waving frantically from a window seat beside Ecthelion, whom he was squashing by leaning too far over. Poor Ecthelion, Thranduil thought, to put up with Glorfindel all the time. There was really no need for him to be such a doormat.

    Glorfindel crawled over Ecthelion and shoved his way down the bus where Thranduil stood with Legolas and Tauriel, holding onto the poles.

    “I was just about to text you. Hey, Legolas!”

    “Hi!”

    Glorfindel turned to Thranduil. “What are you doing on Wednesday?”

    Thranduil stared. “I don’t know,” he said.

    “Good, so you’re free. Me and the team are going down to the beach after tryouts with some of Elrond’s gang.”

    “Oh, thanks, but I’ll pass,” said Thranduil.

    Glorfindel frowned, looking quite severe. “It wasn’t a question. Everyone will be there! Plus, it’s Wednesday, so you won’t even have to miss class for it.”

    Thranduil felt awkward. He had never been invited to the beach day before, though it was a long-standing tradition at Rhovanion, extending beyond the football team and the seniors. Teachers had begun to cancel classes for whichever day it was arranged on, knowing in advance that there would be very few, if any, students showing up to school. Thranduil’s company had never been requested before.

    “It’ll be fun,” Glorfindel insisted when Thranduil did not respond. “Egalmoth got his license in July, so you can hitch a ride with us.”

    Thranduil knew there was no talking his way out of this. Sighing, he nodded, and Glorfindel clapped him on the shoulder happily. Then, he return to the rear of the bus to yell at whichever person had taken his seat.

    “Can we go to the beach as well?” Legolas asked as soon as Glorfindel was gone.

    “No, you have to go to school,” said Thranduil.

    “So do you!”

    “I only have half a day on Wednesday.”

    “Well, that’s unfair,” said Legolas resentfully.

    “I know.”

    The bus continued on down the main road, stopping often to let off students (and the occasional adult who had been brave enough to get on board). Pressed so close to the door, Thranduil watched each person jump off the bus. Close to his own stop, he moved aside to let Bard through. He was carrying a skateboard and, once on the street, he tossed it underfoot. Thranduil watched him roll away until the bus eventually overtook him.

    Several stops later, Thranduil departed the bus with Legolas and Tauriel and received a text message before he had even turned the corner into his street.

    _Don’t bail on Wednesday!!_

The walk home was short. Thranduil let his brother and sister take the lead, both of them running down the street to their home. They lived at the end of a court, in a two-storey house with a garden at the front and garage to the right. By the time Thranduil reached it, the other two were already at the door, bickering over who had won the race between gasps of breath.

    Thranduil fished out his keys and opened the door. Legolas and Tauriel barrelled inside, dumping their bags under the coat pegs. Thranduil took his own bag upstairs, putting it on his bed. Oropher would not be back from work until five, so he went down to the kitchen to fix some sandwiches.

    All-in-all, Thranduil thought his first day back at school had gone well. He was looking forward to his subjects that year and was glad to be back in an environment where everything was as it should be. He hadn’t the temperament for the arbitrary chaos of summer break. Studying offered him a purpose and a distraction that friends and socialising never could. And it meant he couldn't let anyone down except himself.

    This was why he was so reluctant to go to the beach on Wednesday. Not only was he quite certain he wouldn’t enjoy himself, but he knew for a fact that his presence was not wanted, or required, by anyone else but Glorfindel. 

    Thranduil shook his head absently as he took bread from the counter. He was being as much of a doormat as Ecthelion when it came to Glorfindel. Or perhaps Glorfindel had made it his mission to be extra pushy this year. Whatever the reason, Thranduil wondered what would become of the beach day. He could easily enough worm his way out of it with a well-worded excused, but half of him felt quite touched at being invited - at being thought of. Regardless of his desire to go or not, it was a nice feeling to know that his company was indeed wanted by at least _one_ person.


	2. on the defence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard admits a secret and doesn't learn to leave well enough alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to ignore character descriptions if you wish. My perceptions of quite a few elves clashes with canon and fanon, but I can't seem to shake them, so i'm sorry about that.

* * *

 

**Leave the lights on. Keeping talking. I'll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.**

 

* * *

 

 

Bard wasn’t expecting much to come of his second day at Rhovanion College. His main priority was making a good impression on the other students, determined as he was to be accepted by them. It didn’t matter very much if he didn’t make any friends, so long as no one skirted him in the hallways, or turned to walk in the other direction when they saw him approaching.

    That said, he knew how much better off he’d be if he did indeed make friends. He found school – and life in general – a great deal more trying when there wasn’t at least one person to buffer it. As a consequence, when he saw he had Ancient History first thing on Tuesday morning, he selfishly and unapologetically glued himself to Thranduil.

    Glorfindel’s description of Thranduil during the summer break had involved the words ‘nice,’ ‘a laugh,’ and ‘really tall.’ But Bard had been quite taken aback to discover that this was not precisely the case, though Thranduil’s astonishing height was nothing to sneeze at. Bard wondered if Thranduil perhaps opened up more when he was with his friends, but it quickly transpired that he didn’t have any aside from Glorfindel, who he did not even sit with at lunch. If there was evidence to suggest Thranduil was anything but dour and unresponsive, Bard was yet to be shown. This, however, only made him more curious about what Thranduil was like when he wasn’t at school – about what he was like for Glorfindel to make such claims about him.

    He did not seem to mind when Bard asked to sit next to him in Ancient History, nor did he protest in sharing his book. But he still remained as solemn as ever, and did not move to initiate a conversation. He was by no means quiet, for he answered many questions asked by the teacher and spoke confidently. Bard figured he just wasn’t interested in making friends, and knew from experience that it was best to respect this.

    Bard was taken by surprise when the lesson ended. He had been attempting to finish reading the first chapter of the textbook, which the teacher had breezed through in the first hour. But the book was abruptly pulled out from under his nose and stuffed into Thranduil’s bag.

    “Hey!”

    “Class is over,” Thranduil said, pulling his hair out from under the strap of his bag.

    Bard chewed his lip. “Would you mind if I borrowed your book? I’ll give it back in Chemistry.”

    Thranduil quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I don’t know how you expect to do any work if you don’t have the textbooks.”

    “I haven’t had a chance to buy most of my books,” Bard bristled. “I had to get a lot online and they haven’t been delivered yet.”

    “Why didn’t you buy them earlier?”

    “I enrolled here barely a month ago. It was really last-minute,” Bard explained.

    “Well, if you don’t have your books yet, you really ought to pay more attention to the teacher,” said Thranduil.

    Bard’s temper flared, burning up from his stomach. But Thranduil was taking out the textbook again and handing it over. Clenching his teeth, Bard took extra care not to snatch it away.

    “Thanks,” he muttered.

    Thranduil left the classroom without saying goodbye while Bard quickly copied down the homework questions from the blackboard. Then, fishing an apple out of his bag, he went to the library to do the reading.

    He found it frustrating how unfriendly many school textbooks were to read. It was one thing to use long, overcomplicated words and sentences, but totally another to back them up with a tiny, blockish font. It was just unnecessary. How could Thranduil possibly be rude enough to suggest it was Bard’s own fault that he couldn’t keep up?

    Taking a desk towards the back of the library, Bard flicked on the lamp and opened Thranduil’s textbook, feeling the need to handle it with delicacy. His name was printed neatly inside the front cover, with no evidence of there being a previous owner. Bard opened up the first chapter and began to read.

    By the time he was done answering the corresponding questions, recess and his free period were almost over. Stretching, he got up from his chair, switched off the lamp, and put his blazer on.

    As he made to leave the library, he spotted Thranduil at one of the desks by the windows, slumped forward over his books and fast asleep. Bard couldn’t help but smile. He was so peaceful and unobtrusive in sleep.

    Bard went over and shook him gently.

    “Hey, get up.”

    Thranduil stirred, his gossamer hair falling from his shoulders and onto his hands.

    “Here’s your book,” Bard said, setting it on the table.

    Thranduil straightened up, rubbing his eyes wearily.

    “Did the bell ring?” he mumbled.

    “Not yet,” said Bard, checking his watch. “There’s still five minutes. I didn’t know you had a free period.”

    Thranduil did not reply to this, but his expression conveyed a touch of bemusement that Bard could not determine. Thranduil stood from his chair and picked up a thick folder of what appeared to be an essay, though Bard was quite certain no teacher would assign one as lengthy as that.

    “What is that?” he asked, pointing to the folder.

    “An Extended Investigation thesis,” Thranduil replied, looking down at it. “I was going to make notes on it before my first class tomorrow.”

    “Extended Investigation? I’ve never heard of that subject,” Bard said.

    “It’s not very popular, and not many schools offer it. I’ve been waiting to do it since year nine.”

    Thranduil returned the folder to his bag, along with his other things. He started to walk from the library, so Bard followed him.

    “But what is it?” he persisted.

    Thranduil blinked several times, his blue eyes still over-bright from sleep. “Oh. It’s. Well. It’s kind of self-explanatory. You choose a topic to research and you spend the year writing a thesis on it.”

    “Huh. That sounds cool,” said Bard. “What will your thesis be on?”

    Thranduil shrugged a shoulder. “I haven’t decided yet.”

    He left it at that. They went their separate ways to their lockers and, when the bell rang, met up again outside the chemistry lab. Thranduil still looked quite sleepy, yawning frequently and flicking strands of hair from his face irritably. They were the first to arrive at the classroom, and the door was still locked. They stood in silence for a while, but at length, Thranduil finally spoke.

    “Please do not expect me to lend you my textbooks every time you need them.”

    Bard frowned. “I’m sorry? I just needed more time to read the chapter.”

    “Why didn’t you listen to the teacher in class?”

    “I – I can’t remember the spoken word on its own,” Bard stammered, unable to prevent the blush from dusting his cheeks. “I need the text to follow at the same time.”

    “Then why didn’t you follow?”

    Thranduil did not appear to be accusing Bard of anything, nor was he being judgemental, but his tone was definitely reproving and it threw Bard off. He was unsure of how best to explain his situation, and what would come of confessing the truth to someone like Thranduil. He didn’t exactly have friends to spread anything around, but Bard was instinctively mistrustful.

    With a deep sign of resignation, he decided on the truth, for it was always easier on him – mentally – if _someone_ outside of the school faculty knew.

    “I’m dyslexic,” he mumbled.

    Thranduil’s expression changed at once. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t consider that. Wow. I must sound like a jerk.”

    Bard rubbed his neck bashfully. He had never gotten a response like that before. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

    “You shouldn’t be,” said Thranduil.

    Bard felt his stomach jolt uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

    “You shouldn’t let yourself grow accustom to people treating your disability as something that doesn’t matter.”

    “But – but you didn’t even know!”

    “That’s not the point.”

    Bard stuffed his hands into his pockets, feeling embarrassed now. “Whatever. Just. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

    Thranduil looked as though he wanted to argue with this but, after a pause, he nodded.

    The teacher arrived not long after the rest of the students. Bard and Thranduil filed into the room, taking seats with Glorfindel and Ecthelion again. Though they burst immediately into chatter, Thranduil paid them no attention. He instead took out his books and pens and waited patiently for the teacher to start the lesson.

    Bard caught himself staring at Thranduil; at the curve of his ear just visible through his silver hair, and the absent, almost automatic way his fingers reached for a pen to take notes, which transcended all forms of untidy. When Bard glanced down at Thranduil’s notebook, he couldn’t make out a single word from his handwriting, for it was little more than black scribble. Was it shorthand? It couldn’t be. No person on earth would have been able to decipher it.

    Bard felt much more satisfied at the end of Chemistry. It had been a theory lesson, but he found formulas and equations easier to handle than text and analysis (though he loved both in equal measure).

    When the lesson was over, he went with Glorfindel and Ecthelion to the cafeteria for lunch. They took what he figured was their usual bench, outside underneath a magnolia tree, which was still bloomed pink and white despite the waning summer.

    After a time, two girls joined them, one of whom Bard recognised as a member of the football team. She was of average height, but long-limbed and freckly, giving her a gangly and tomboyish appearance even in her school skirt. Bard only recognised her because of how memorably her burst of red curls contrasted her dark skin.

    “Look at this,” she said to Glorfindel, thrusting a piece of paper under his nose. “Detention, on my second day!”

    Glorfindel choked on his lunch. “I think you’ve beaten a school record, Nimrodel.”

    “Well, _I_ think it’s bullshit. I didn’t even do anything wrong!”

    “You flipped a table over,” pointed out the other girl.

    Glorfindel evidently disapproved of this. “You need to keep your temper in check, Nim, or I’m cutting you from the team for real. I’m not putting up with your anger management issues this year.”

    Nimrodel stuck out her tongue at him, but then sighed in defeat. “Maybe it’s just as well. Mum’s been breathing down my neck about my grades, so I could probably use the extra study time.”

    “Hey, you’re not getting off that easy. I only tolerate your crap because you’re the best midfielder in the school,” Glorfindel reprimanded, jabbing his fork at her.

    “Even when the detention is tomorrow afternoon?” Nimrodel jeered, though not from any pleasure of her own.

    “But you have to be there for tryouts! Who gave you the detention?”

    “Celeborn,” Nimrodel grumbled.

    Glorfindel paled a little. “Damn. Well, I’ll talk to him after school anyway. Maybe if I get Elrond to come with me…”

    While they bickered over the likelihood of Nimrodel getting her detention postponed, Bard turned to Ecthelion to inquire after Thranduil’s eccentricity.

    “He’s always been like that,” said Ecthelion with a dismissive wave. “He was last year’s top student; highest score in all of his classes, even Math. Glorfindel’s known him since primary school. They used to be really close, but… shit happened.”

    “But has he always been so… cold?” Bard prompted.

    Ecthelion grimaced. “I don’t know if that’s the right word to use. He wasn’t like that when we were younger, but he’s had a tough time of it. I can kind of understand why he isn’t interested in making friends.”

    “Why, what happened?”

    “It’s not for me to say. It’s best just to leave him be.”

    “Who, Thranduil?” Glorfindel cut in, turning his attention to Bard and Ecthelion.

    Ecthelion nodded. “Bard was wondering why he’s like that.”

    “Like what?”

    “That.”

    “Oh! Yeah, he’s already done his time on the rumour mill, though it was just as well no one knew the whole truth,” Glorfindel explained. “We only know because our parents know, and Thranduil asked us not to say anything. The rumours eventually died down, so there was no point in keeping them up by offering people the truth.”

    “I wouldn’t pry into his business,” said Ecthelion. “The rest of the school has put him through enough.”

    Bard sympathised with this. He, too, knew what it was like to have a school turn its back on you.

   

    After lunch, Bard had Food Technology. There was no one in the class that he knew, save for Nimrodel’s friend, but she was sitting with two other girls already. Bard took a seat at the back and listened while the teacher talked for the better part of an hour before setting them theory work on how to correctly use knives and other kitchen utensils.  

    He found it strange, to be back in this setting, with desks and lockers and other students. After over two years of being home-schooled, Bard wondered if he would eventually get used to being on a school campus. The bustling and pushing and bumping of other people his age was enough to bring back memories he would rather forget – memories he wished weren’t memories at all. Being at an actual school sent ripples through his body; ripples of nerves and raw, uncontained feeling. In the end, it didn’t matter that he was the new guy and that nobody was aware of what he had done, because it still felt as though everyone was staring at him in that reproachful way he had become all too familiar with. It felt like the whole world knew to be wary of him.

    But Bard assured himself that he was just being silly. It was only his second day of school, after all. The repercussions of his behaviour at his previous college hadn't had the chance to alleviate in the same environment they were bred in, and so the anxiety came back fresh and terrifying regardless of his location.

    Bard left class alone at the end of the day. When he went to his locker to put his books away, he saw Thranduil approaching from further down the senior wing corridor. His hair was piled into a knot on top of his head and there was dirt smudged on his nose and chin. He looked perplexed when Bard waved to him, but did not stop to talk. He dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers and kept going. Undeterred, Bard grabbed his skateboard, shut his locker, and jogged to catch up.

    “Are you catching the bus?” he asked.

    “The next one,” said Thranduil. “I have to get my brother and sister from school.”

    “Oh, right, you were with them yesterday,” Bard said, recalling the boy and girl from the previous day, clutching to the poles of the bus. “Do you pick them up every day?”

    Thranduil nodded.

    “But you’ll still go to the beach tomorrow, right?”

    Bard was unashamedly excited for the beach day the following afternoon. He had not hung out with classmates after school in years.

    “I suppose so,” Thranduil said, though he did not find the prospect overly thrilling. “My uncle can probably pick them up just this once.”

    “It’ll be fun. It’s such a cool tradition,” Bard said. “By the way, you have – um – is that dirt on your face?”

    To Bard’s amusement, Thranduil turned a brilliant shade of scarlet and rubbed his face on his school shirt, smearing the white cotton with dirt. Bard caught a glimpse of skin just above the waistband and, oddly enough, felt his own face grow hot. He looked away quickly.

    “We were planting tomatoes in the horticulture department,” Thranduil explained.

    “For what subject?”

    “Environmental Science.”

    “Whoa, cool. But you do Chemistry, too – why pick two science classes?” said Bard.

    Thranduil looked confused by this. “Why do I have to pick only one?”

    Bard opened his mouth to reply, but then shut it again, finding this to be a valid point. Thranduil was coming off a bit nerdy. Bard had actually been surprised not to see him in the Advanced Math class. Being last year’s top student, surely he would have been accepted without a problem.

    They walked to the bus stop outside the school gates. Thranduil turned left and, as usual, did not say goodbye. Bard was half tempted to go with him to the primary school, intrigued by him. But, remembering Ecthelion’s words from lunch time, Bard boarded the bus. He sat next to Feren, the broad-shouldered and unassuming goalkeeper for the football team who was in year 10.

    In the seat in front of them was Glorfindel and Ecthelion. Bard wondered if they were ever apart. Glorfindel turned around, his golden curls frizzy from the heat and his cheeks flushed pink from the sun. He grinned at Bard, blue eyes sparkling.

    “You’re definitely coming to tryouts tomorrow?” he asked.

    Bard matched his grin. “Definitely. What positions do you need?”

    “Whichever positions you’re into, babe,” Glorfindel said with an unsettlingly convincing wink. Then, he laughed. “I need a centre back, but I forgot that Celebrimbor graduated last year, so I’m after a decent striker as well.”

    “Did you manage to get Nimrodel out of detention?” Bard said.

    “Yep! When I told Celeborn it was for tryouts, he was totally understanding. I mean, he’s not everyone’s favourite teacher, but he has his moments. He agreed to let Nim do her detention on Thursday instead.”

    “I take it football is a big deal here,” Bard said.

    “The _biggest_ deal,” said Glorfindel gravely. “We compete against five other schools during the year.”

    “Compete, huh? Do you win a cup?”

    Glorfindel nodded. “The Arda Cup gets an honorary place in the school trophy room for however long they keep up a winning streak. We had it for five years running… until I became captain and lost it to _Erebor,_ of all schools. I’m determined to get it back this year. I can’t graduate without it.”

    “When’s the first match?” said Bard.

    “Not until November. We start late in the season to get in some practice time. I don’t even know who we’re up against first.”

    “It’ll probably be Arnor,” said Feren on Bard’s left, speaking up for the first time.

    “Damn, that’s a major de-motivator,” Glorfindel said with a grimace. “We always lose to them. They’re whole school is _sport, sport, sport_. They’d give Gatsby a run for his money.”

    Bard laughed. “Do you guys have mascots?”

    “Kind of? We don’t make a poor sod dress up, but our mascot is an elk.”

    “An… elk,” Bard repeated.

    Glorfindel caught his dubious tone at once. “It’s incredibly sad, I know, but it beats a goat. Or even an elephant, come to that.”

    “Okay, you need to clarify,” Bard said.

    “Right, right. So, Rhovanion Elks, that’s us, Erebor Mountain Goats, Harad Elephants, Rhûn Vultures, Arnor Broncos, and Eriador Wolfhounds.”

    “Okay, makes sense. Is that what the antlers on our emblem are for?”

    “Yeah,” said Glorfindel, pulling his blazer down to inspect the school emblem on the breast pocket. “It’s weird, but our school is still the best in Arda.”

    “I have noticed you guys take a lot of pride in your school. I’ve never known students to keep their uniform so… appropriate,” said Bard, casting his gaze around the bus, which was now packed with students wearing green-and-grey, their ties only just starting to come loose, and their socks pulled down to stave off the heat.

    Glorfindel shrugged. “It’s always been like that. To be totally honest with you, a lot the students here come from rich families. I mean, this school isn’t exclusive to them or anything, and it’s by no means more expensive than any other, but whatever district you’re in usually dictates which school you go to, and it just so happens that everyone near Rhovanion is a rich snob.”

    “And what about you?” Bard pressed with a smirk.

    “Me? I’m a rich snob, but I’m not going to waste my time showing it off like Elrond or Gil-Galad do. They’re so full of it and it’s exhausting to even look at.”

    “You shouldn’t badmouth Elrond.” It was Ecthelion who spoke this time, turning around in his seat next to Glorfindel, looking stern. “His family have done a lot for yours.”

    “Oh, listen to you,” Glorfindel said, rolling his eyes. “Look, my respect for someone lowers drastically when they get chauffeured to and from school. Either take the bus with the rest of us commoners or get your license.”

    “You wouldn’t say that if you got chauffeured to and from school, Glorfindel,” said Ecthelion. “You would take an opportunity like that in a heartbeat and don’t you dare deny it.”

    “Whatever,” said Glorfindel, smacking Ecthelion’s face gently with the back of his hand. “I won’t be reprimanded by the likes of you.”

    Ecthelion rubbed his nose, sighed, and faced the front of the bus again.

    As the bus teetered down the road and halted at the traffic lights, Bard caught sight of Thranduil walking on the footpath just behind. Glorfindel saw him too and gave a cry. With astonishing speed, he crawled over Ecthelion and wrenched the bus window open. He grabbed an apple from his bag, pivoted it out the window, and yelled;

    “Heads up!”

    Thranduil looked up to see the apple hurtling towards his head. Bard gasped, afraid it would hit its mark. But to his astonishment, Thranduil caught the apple with both hands, and had just enough time to give Glorfindel the finger before the bus kept moving.

    Sighing happily, Glorfindel shut the window and extricated himself from a very harassed-looking Ecthelion.

    “I want him on the team so bad,” he said to Bard. “With reflexes like that he could win us every match. But he refuses to play, the prick.”

    “Well, when you treat him like that, it’s no wonder,” Ecthelion snapped. “You’re the only friend he’s got, Glorfindel, so don’t turn it into abuse.”

    “Yes, _mother_.”

   Bard got off the bus some fifteen minutes later, saying goodbye to Glorfindel and the others. He mounted his skateboard and took off down the street, half wishing he didn’t have to go home just yet. He had not known how much he missed being around people his own age until now. Glorfindel was funny and already felt like a good friend, and Bard enjoyed the positive attention he received from other students as well. He was by no means a seeker of any attention at all, but after being so long perceived in a negative light, Bard figured he deserved a moment in the sun.

    He skated to his house, which was tucked away in a street full of other houses that looked exactly the same. Bard still struggled to call it home - it was still too new, too violently unfamiliar, even after nearly a year of living there - but it was a comfort when his mother was inside, for however indefinite a period of time. She eased the tension and sometimes, just sometimes, could make Bard and his dad get along. When that happened, Bard almost didn't mind that his room was smaller than his last one, or that the yard had more dirt than grass.

    Catching up his skateboard, he went in through the front gate. Among the litter of shoes and empty flower pots by the door there was a large, square parcel with Bard's name on it. He took it inside, leaving his skateboard in the hall. He could hear movement in the kitchen, but it wasn't quiet enough to be his mother. Bard figured she was in the parlour, so he tiptoed up the stairs and disappeared into his room to read his new schoolbooks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the second chap! You can pry dyslexic Bard from my cold, dead hands tbh.


	3. remnants of summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Football tryouts bring out school spirit, Egalmoth's nerves are tested, and Thranduil comes to several revelations that may or may not be true.

* * *

  

**I sleep. I dream. I make up things I would never say. I say them very quietly.**

 

* * *

 

 

“You coming to watch the tryouts?”

    Glorfindel and Thranduil joined the throng of students leaving the auditorium after assembly. Glorfindel was carrying a football and wearing his gym uniform, practically vibrating with excitement.

    “Actually, I was going to go to the library and –”

    “ _The library_ ,” Glorfindel wheezed. “The library is always going to be there, Thranduil. Come to tryouts.”

    Thranduil wanted to argue, but he didn’t really have the heart to deny Glorfindel, not when he was so excited. Being captain of the football team had been his dream ever since they had started high school, and Thranduil felt bad that his first year in the position had led the team to such a brutal defeat.

    “Okay,” Thranduil agreed, though he still felt no enthusiasm. “Are we going to the beach afterwards?”

    Glorfindel’s entire face lit up. “You’re coming?”

    “You told me not to bail,” Thranduil said with a frown.

    “Well, yeah, but you usually do anyway.”

    They walked to the oval just outside the auditorium. Most of the football team were already there, warming up and attaching netting to the goalposts. Thranduil spotted Bard among the group of potentials, his dark hair almost brown in the bright sun. He looked nervous, but eager to be a part of the tryouts.

    Whether they were on the pitch or off it, the students of Rhovanion took almost excessive pride in their football team, even so far as to postpone the beach day. Therefore, tryouts were highly considered and Thranduil was not alone to take a seat in the stands to watch. Most of the school had shown up, half of them already in free-dress in preparation for the afternoon.

    “Hi, Thranduil.”

    Thranduil shielded his eyes from the sun to see a girl sidling into the stands on his left. It took him a moment to realise it was the girl who had waved to him on the first day. A Head Girl badge glinted on her blazer.

    “Hi, Celebrían,” he returned. “I liked your assembly speech.”

    Celebrían beamed in appreciation, and then proceeded to peel off her blazer, sweater, and school tie. She fanned herself in the hot sun with her hand, her dark face flushed from being forced to wear so many layers for the presentation.

    “It wasn’t too much, was it?” she said. “Mum said to go for something compelling and inspiring, but I didn’t want to overdo it.”

    “It was perfect,” Thranduil assured her.

    He liked Celebrían. He was glad she had been made Head Girl despite the backlash it came with. Being the principal’s daughter was a privilege many students insisted she abused, but those who actually took the time to talk to her knew that Celebrían was a hard worker and deserved all the praise and credit she earned.

   “I hope Finduilas gets onto the team. It’s not fair when she’s just as good as her brother.”

    Thranduil gazed across the pitch to where the applicants were waiting instruction from Glorfindel. He quickly found Finduilas among them – the only girl – with her burst of yellow hair. She was tying it up into an astonishingly long ponytail, ignoring a couple of younger boys who were jeering at her.

    “I’m sure Nimrodel would appreciate another girl on the team,” Thranduil said.

    Celebrían nodded. Then, she leaned forward and waved down to someone on the bottommost step of the stands. A girl came hurrying up them, throwing herself into the seat next to Celebrían with a sigh. She ran her fingers through her short, pink hair to make it messy, watching the crowd below on the grass. Then, very abruptly, she leapt to her feet again and screamed;

    “Go, Finny!”

    Down on the oval, Finduilas looked up at the sound of her name and waved.

    “Niënor, I don’t think your uniform is regulation length,” Celebrían remarked, leaning back in her seat to unabashedly look up her friend’s skirt.

    The girl, Niënor, sat back down and stuck out her tongue. “It’s scorching, Celebrían. And besides, it’s only short because I’ve had it since year seven.”

    Celebrían gaped at her. “Why didn’t you ever buy a new one?”

    “I never needed to! But I grew, like, a foot over this summer and now there’s just no point in buying one if I’m graduating this year.”

    “I can’t argue with that, but mum will have a fit when she sees you.”

    “Your mum is uptight. I’m not hurting anyone.”

    “Look, they’re starting!”

    Thranduil turned his attention to the oval. Glorfindel had organised everyone into two teams, spreading out members and applicants evenly in order to assess how the two groups interacted with each other. One team wore yellow armbands, the other wore blue. Glorfindel lined up the football in the centre of the pitch, with Gil-Galad and Elros on either side of it. They eyed each other with friendly rivalry.

    Glorfindel evacuated the pitch and then blew his whistle for the game to start. Gil-Galad took the ball, weaving it away from Elros. After that, Thranduil lost track of it pretty fast. The applicants for the team were good, and Finduilas in particular was making quite a scene by outstripping and outsmarting her brother. Gil-Galad looked dumbstruck at her skill.

    Thranduil followed Bard for a little while. He had a yellow armband on and his hair had been tied into a stub at the base of his neck. He was unquestionably good, and even struck the first goal for his team, which was an impressive feat considering Feren was goalie for the blues. Thranduil saw him exchanged a significant look with Glorfindel before putting the game back into play.

    After about twenty minutes, Glorfindel blew his whistle and took some people off the field, replacing them with reserves that had been left on the benches.

    “They may as well go home,” Niënor said to Celebrían, indicating the group that had been called off. “I mean, no wonder, they were terrible.”

    Thranduil noticed that Bard had not been taken from the pitch. He was sweaty, but still raring to go, taking the midfield at Glorfindel’s command. Other players were moved around as well, in order to have different skills tested. Glorfindel returned the ball to the pitch and the game continued.

    The yellow team were winning. Mithrellas was sat by the scoreboard to the far end of the field where the rest of the oval stretched on behind her. She flipped the numbers again to show 3-1.

    “That new guy is really good,” Celebrían said, opening a packet of crisps. She offered it to Thranduil and he took a handful.

    “Do you know anything about him?” he said, deciding to entertain his curiosity just this once.

    “Not really,” Celebrían replied slowly. “Only that he’s been home-schooled for about two-and-a-half years. He moved here last autumn, apparently.”

    “Huh. What school did he go to before?”

    Celebrían shrugged. “Some fancy, private school in the city. I – er – heard he got expelled, actually.”

    Thranduil raised both his eyebrows, but ultimately was not surprised by this. Though Bard seemed like a good and eager student, there was something about him that Thranduil could not pinpoint – or, rather, did not want to pinpoint, for when he saw Bard, he couldn’t help but see a part of himself, too. While Bard was friendly and enthusiastic, he was definitely hiding something, and Thranduil wondered if they perhaps had more in common than either of them realised.

 

    The game ended with tumultuous applause. Glorfindel made a ceremony of presenting the two students joining the team with medals (made of stolen ribbon from the textiles room and cut pieces of wood painted gold from the woodwork room). Finduilas and Bard looked exhausted, but pleased to have secured positions on the team. Glorfindel fist-bumped them both, and then proceeded to offer reserve places to a few other applicants.

    Thranduil, Celebrían, and Niënor made their way down to the oval where the new football team were taking off shin-guards and armbands, and downing entire bottles of water. Niënor streaked ahead and barrelled into Finduilas for a congratulatory hug. Thranduil stood awkwardly to one side, waiting for whenever everyone else was ready to leave for the beach. Egalmoth came down to the pitch as well, followed by Ecthelion and Mithrellas.

    “Let me know when you want to get going,” Egalmoth said to Glorfindel.

    “We’ll just grab our stuff,” Glorfindel said. “No point showering if we’re going to swim.”

    “Who am I being a taxi for today?” Egalmoth asked.

    “Depends on how many people you can fit.”

    “Legally? Five.”

    “And illegally?”

    Egalmoth rolled his eyes. “Probably nine? But people will have to sit on laps.”

    Glorfindel grinned, turned to his team, and said; “Hands up who needs a ride to the beach.”

    Several people shot up their hands and Egalmoth groaned.

    “I will lose my license because of you, Glorfindel.”

    “Shush.” Glorfindel started counting those who had put up their hands. “Elros, piss off and get chauffeured with your brother. Nimrodel, you can come, that makes seven. Mithrellas, yes. Feren, no, because you count as two people, and Bard, yes.”

    Thranduil was as dubious as Egalmoth about the practicality of fitting so many people in one car, station wagon or not. However, those getting a lift gathered up their bags and followed Egalmoth to the school parking lot, were two or three other students were also squashing too many people into their cars.

    Thranduil never forgot that car ride. Luckily for him, he had the longest legs and got to sit in the front. Unluckily, however, Bard also had long legs and was made to sit on Thranduil’s lap. Behind them in the back seat, Nimrodel, Mithrellas, Ecthelion, Glorfindel, Finduilas, Niënor and Mablung were all packed in like sardines. Niënor, the smallest, was sitting on the bump in the middle of the floor, her legs splayed on top of everyone else’s. Egalmoth got into the driver’s seat and determinedly ignored the clown-like situation of his car, while Thranduil tried to ignore the fact that Bard was radiating a lot of heat and making his heart thump like a distressed bird.

    The drive to the beach was forty minutes and Egalmoth’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel for the entire journey. Thranduil didn’t really feel bad for him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the ability to say no to such an ordeal.

    Since the ancient car had no air-conditioning, Bard rolled down the window to let out the stuffiness. He rested his arms and head on it, closing his eyes against the rushing wind and letting it tousle his hair under his hat. Before long, Thranduil’s gaze moved away from the scenery outside and fixed on Bard for much too long a time. Bard actually caught him, glancing at Thranduil from the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything, but a small, crooked smile spoke a hundred words anyway.

    They somehow arrived at the beach without getting pulled over or arrested. Egalmoth popped the boot and everyone unstuck themselves from one another to retrieve their bags. The salty breeze snagged their clothes and hair, alleviating the heat that kept so still and suffocating in the mainland. Thranduil slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the procession down the sand dunes.

    There were already hundreds of students on the beach, congregated near a kiosk that sold chips and cold drinks. Music played from nearly every group, thudding loud from portable speakers under wide, striped umbrellas.

    Glorfindel led the party towards a small bunch of students setting up an umbrella, having only just arrived themselves. Thranduil saw Elrond and Celebrían among them. They waved at the sight of the approaching company, holding up bottles of soda.

    “Did all of you fit into one car?” said Celebrían when they reached her. She was wearing a large sunhat and a long, transparent dress over her bikini.

    Egalmoth nodded, still exasperated.

    Within the next quarter of an hour, two umbrellas were set up and many people had already fled to the water. Thranduil sat in the shade with a bottle of cola, his hands wrapped around his ankles.

    “Aren’t you going to swim?” Celebrían asked as she took off her hat and dress.

    Thranduil shook his head, hating himself. How could he have forgotten that he didn’t know how to swim? What was the point in going to the beach if all he was going to do was sit on a towel and watch everyone else have a good time?

    He supposed it was just as well. This way no one would have their belongings stolen.

    Unsure of what else to do with himself, Thranduil retrieved an old, analogue camera from his school bag. He adjusted the settings on it and snapped photos almost at random; several people playing shoulder wars, Mithrellas and Nimrodel strolling down the beach with their shoes off, Bard and Glorfindel playing a game of football with some of the team. Thranduil admittedly preferred it this way. He liked to document what happened around him. It felt like he was preserving it; making it real, as if for some reason it wasn’t otherwise.

    After a time, Bard came over from the ocean, tucking his wet hair behind his ears. He picked up a bottle of water from the cooler and drained it in one.

    “You haven’t even budged,” he said without preamble, wiping his mouth. “Won’t you swim?”

    Thranduil shook his head again, some strands of hair coming loose from his bun. “I can’t.”

    “You can’t swim?” said Bard.

    Thranduil didn’t know why he had so easily confessed it, but Bard thankfully did not look critical.

    “That’s too bad,” he said. “But you could at least stand in the shallows.”

    “No, it’s okay. I’ll guard everyone’s stuff.”

    Bard shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m going to get some food – do you want anything?”

    “No, thanks.”

    Bard dug some money out of his bag and then left, heading to the little shop underneath the lifesaving club. To Thranduil’s astonishment, however, he returned some ten minutes later with a box of hot chips. He sat in the shade of the umbrellas next to Thranduil and opened it.

    “How’s your thesis going?” he asked, picking out some chips. “Have you thought of a topic yet?”

    Thranduil collected himself before responding, a little startled. “Not yet.”

    “I guess to do it on _anything_ you want is pretty broad. I don’t think I’m interested in one thing enough to write a book on it.”

    “It depends on the one thing. It doesn’t have to be a personal interest; just something… interesting,” Thranduil said.

    “Well, what do you think is interesting?” Bard supplied.

    But in that moment Thranduil was too interested in Bard to consider the question, awed by the way his hair curled when it started to dry, and the overbright green his eyes became in response to the sun. He was so easy-going and kind, and that kindness was like a blow to Thranduil’s head, for how long had it been since another student had spoken to him without hearing about what had happened? How long had it been since anyone had faced him and not shown pity, or even fear? Bard was an outsider, and probably did not know about Thranduil’s past, and yet somehow there was no way he didn’t know, because didn’t Thranduil see the same past in Bard? Weren’t they the same?

    But he shook his head, clearing his thoughts. It was silly, to think he could relate to someone so completely after only a couple of days. He was seeing something that simply was not there.

    “I think plant-human coexistence is interesting,” he finally blurted, utterly lost for anything else to say.

    Bard blinked rapidly in astonishment. “Co… existence?”

    “How plants and humans respond to one another over time,” Thranduil explained, speaking too quickly, and already feeling foolish.

    “Right…” Bard sounded sceptical. “Have you… researched this?”

    “Not properly, but I have plants in my room and I document their growth,” Thranduil said.

    “But don’t plants just react to the carbon dioxide we emit? Isn’t that the reason?”

    “That’s what everyone says, but I think it’s more to it than that.”

    “If you say so. But I’d be impressed if you wrote a whole thesis on that,” said Bard, cracking a smile.

    Thranduil returned it weakly. “It would certainly be a challenge. I don’t think I’ll attempt it.”

    They kept silent for a while after that, Bard eating chips and Thranduil digging his feet into the sand. Eventually, he spoke again, unable to contain his curiosity.

    “How come you were expelled from your old school?”

    Bard made a face, pausing in the midst of licking the salt off his fingers.

    “You heard about that, huh?”

    “Celebrían told me,” Thranduil hastily clarified. “I haven’t told anyone else.”

    Bard glanced behind him at Celebrían by the shoreline, playing Frisbee with Elros. He turned back to Thranduil, his expression sour.

    “I don’t like to talk about it,” he said.

    “Sorry,” Thranduil mumbled, and he went back to digging at the sand.

 

    Since it was still a school night, not many people felt like hanging around until the sun set. When Egalmoth declared that he wanted to go home, Thranduil got to his feet and began to help pack up. He took his school bag and a cooler and trudged up the dunes with Bard and Ecthelion back to the car.

    Nimrodel, Mithrellas, and Egalmoth were already there. The two girls were sitting on the bonnet, sharing a cigarette.

    “It’ll be an easier drive back,” Ecthelion said. “Mablung already left, and Finduilas and Niënor are carpooling with Elrond.”

    Egalmoth tilted back his head in relief. “Thank god.”

    They piled the boot with bags and towels and then sat around waiting for Glorfindel. Nimrodel offered around the cigarettes. Thranduil turned them down, but Bard took one.

    “Are you dropping everyone off at home or dumping us somewhere to fend for ourselves?” Ecthelion asked.

    Egalmoth lived in the opposite direction to most of the students, meaning he would have to pass his own house to drop everyone off. But he was too kind-hearted, despite his bad temper, and agreed to drive them all home.

    Glorfindel came up the sand dunes some minutes later, panting and carrying his bulging sports bag. He tossed it into the boot and called shotgun.

    Thranduil squeezed himself into the back seat with Ecthelion and Mithrellas. While Glorfindel generously pulled his seat up, Nimrodel climbed onto Mithrellas’ lap and Bard onto Ecthelion’s.

    “That was the best,” said Nimrodel as Egalmoth reversed the car out of the lot. “Last year’s was great because it was a Friday night, but I think this one was way better.”

    “I agree,” said Ecthelion. “Makes a nice change when everyone isn’t blind drunk and getting the cops call on them.”

    Mithrellas turned to Bard. “That was your first and last beach day. What did you think?”

    “It was great,” Bard said. “We never had any cool traditions like that at my old school.”

    “Where was your old school?” said Egalmoth, glancing in his rear-view mirror.

    “Laketown. In the city.”

    “Never heard of it,” said Egalmoth.

    “Not surprising.”

    Very suddenly, Glorfindel gasped from the passenger seat and started hitting Egalmoth on the arm.

    “Macca’s run! Macca’s run, you barbarian! Pull over!”

    Egalmoth groaned loudly and extensively, but he indicated and turned into the parking lot of a McDonald’s. The company in the backseat cheered. Even Thranduil couldn’t help but smile, thinking of how long it had been since he had done this.

    Egalmoth went into the drive-thru and greeted the speaker. Before he could order anything for himself, everyone started shouting their own orders at the box. It took several minutes and the girl on the other side of it sounded flustered, but she managed to punch it all in correctly so that it showed up on the little screen. Egalmoth thanked her and drove on.

    They stayed in the parking lot to eat, sitting on top of the car and watching the sun slowly start to descend to the water, which was just visible over the winding streets and houses. It was barely seven o’clock, so it was still sunny and warm. Thranduil put himself on the boot of the car, and after a while Bard slid down to join him, slurping a lemonade.

    “You never sit with them,” he said.

    “Pardon?”

    “They’re your friends.”

    Thranduil lowered his gaze, his heart constricting unhappily. He didn’t like the way Bard considered the others to be his friends. He didn’t feel worthy of such an honour.

    “I guess it’s complicated,” he murmured. “I appreciate that they talk to me from time-to-time, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends. It wouldn’t be fair on them.”

    Bard frowned, slurping his lemonade again thoughtfully. “You think so poorly of yourself?”

    Thranduil shrugged. “It’s not that I think poorly of myself. I just think too highly of them.”

    “But what about Glorfindel? Ecthelion said you’ve been friends since primary school,” Bard added.

    “Glorfindel’s different,” Thranduil said. “He’s more of a brother than a friend, so I knew I could always rely on him.”

    “I suppose it’s none of my business, but it’s a shame you don’t take advantage of what’s in front of you.”

    “I don’t think I could ever take advantage of anyone, least of all these guys.”

    “That’s not exactly what I meant,” said Bard meaningfully.

    “I know.”

    Thranduil picked up his own drink for something to do, chewing on the straw absently and feeling awkward. He wondered what Bard would do, if he understood Thranduil’s situation. Would he react badly? Would he avoid Thranduil like everyone else did? Somehow, Thranduil didn’t think so.

    “If it’s any consolation, I’ve fucked up pretty bad in my life,” Bard said without warning. “So, if you ever need someone to talk to…”

    Thranduil stared at Bard, his heart like a jackhammer. “Um, thanks.”

    Bard offered a crooked smile, and then went to re-join the others on top of the car. Thranduil leaned back on the windshield, thinking about what Bard had said. He wondered what sort of terrible thing could have happened to prompt him into be so hard on himself. Could it be that Thranduil had been correct about his assumption? Was it possible that Bard was hiding a secret as awful as his own?      

    The hour was getting on and Thranduil could feel himself drifting, warm and comfortable as he was on the boot of the car. Even the others had stopped their chatter, falling into a well-fed and amicable silence, aided by a cloud of smoke that plumed above them. Thranduil tilted his head up and reached out a hand to tug Glorfindel’s t-shirt.

    “Can I have one?”

    “There aren’t any left,” Glorfindel said apologetically. “We thought you were asleep.”

    “Here,” said Bard.

   He leaned down, the sun casting him into a silhouette – all messy hair and broad shoulders, like an epitaph to boyhood. He offered the remainder of his cigarette to Thranduil, who took it gingerly between two fingers.

    “Thanks.”

    “We’d better get going soon,” Egalmoth piped up then.

    There was a murmur of assent to this and, when cigarette butts littered the asphalt around the car, everyone got back in. They were all too tired now to complain about the seating arrangements. Thranduil slumped back against the leather, staring out the window as the beachside cafes and holidays houses rolled passed, making way to suburban parks and cramped, nondescript front lawns, the houses burning orange in the setting sun.

    At some point during the ride, Nimrodel fell asleep, supported like an over-large cat by Mithrellas’ long arms. Bard soon followed suit. Still sitting on Ecthelion, he sank onto Thranduil’s shoulder, his hands limp and cap askew. Accustomed to this situation thanks to his brother and sister, Thranduil adjusted himself to make Bard more comfortable without really thinking about it. He lifted his arm up and over Bard to rest it behind Ecthelion’s head.

    In the passenger seat, Glorfindel turned around and smirked at what he saw. Thranduil smiled too, though he didn’t know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hoped you liked the update :)  
>   
> I embraced an old and most noble Australia tradition in this chapter, so if you didn't know what a macca's run was, you do now.


	4. east bight baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard keep a secret, Glorfindel tells a secret, and the squad claims a secret.

* * *

 

**Here is the part where everyone was happy all the time and we were all forgiven, even though we didn’t deserve it.**

 

* * *

 

 

In the weeks that followed the school beach day, Bard rarely spoke to Thranduil. Preoccupied as they both were with their own lives, their affiliation with one another did not go beyond greetings in the corridors or sitting at the same desk in class.

    This did not stem Bard’s interested in Thranduil, however, and it by no means deterred him from striking up a conversation every chance he got. He couldn’t help but feel bad that Thranduil’s only friend at school was Glorfindel, because Glorfindel had other friends and spent nearly all his time with them instead. Bard thought that if he could get Thranduil to surrender his resilience towards other students, then maybe he would smile more. Bard had only caught it a couple of times, but when Thranduil smiled – fully and honestly – all the joy in the world was in his eyes.

    But between homework and football training and juggling everyone’s attention towards him (for he was yet to live down his new-student status), Bard found he had very little time to offer Thranduil. In his two years of home tuition, he had forgotten entirely just how intense high school could be. Classes and assignments aside, the gossip and excitement that flooded the rooms and hallways was enough to drown him, and befriending Glorfindel and joining the football team meant being at the centre of of it all. Without any effort on his part, Bard was fast on his way to becoming well and truly popular.

    Thus, opportunities to talk to Thranduil were confined to their joined free period on Tuesdays, which Thranduil used to study. He was always studying.

    But Bard quickly began to look forward to those forty-five minutes in the library. Some days, it was all the peace and quiet he could get in the presence of another person. As chaotic as high school was for someone like him, he appreciated the fact that he never had to be alone. There was always someone to sit with in class or to ride the bus home with. And though Thranduil spoke infrequently and focused almost exclusively on his schoolwork, he was one of Bard’s favourite people.

    It was still warm outside. Even as summer was finally fading into a brown and dusty autumn, the sun shone hot and bright on the school grounds. Bard sat with Thranduil at their usual desk in the library by the window. A light breeze came in and disturbed the pages of their books. They had been working in silence for twenty minutes. Bard was attempting to tackle the annotations for his _Metamorphoses_ essay, but he couldn’t find anything useful in his book to underline.

    “Which book are you writing your essay on?” he asked Thranduil. They spoke this way often; unprompted and sharp against the quiet that collected between them.

    Thranduil looked up from a highly detailed diagram for Environmental Science, taking a moment to register what Bard had said.

    “I’m doing the seventh book,” he said.

    “Damn,” Bard muttered.

    Thranduil’s blue eyes fell to Bard’s copy of the text, battered and missing several pages. He had it open to the fourth book.

    “Do you need notes? I’ve annotated the whole thing,” Thranduil said.

    Bard gaped at him. “Do you do anything fun?”

    Thranduil’s lips quirked at a smile. He leaned down to the side of his chair and withdrew his copy of the book from his bag.

    Bard took it and opened it up to review Thranduil’s notes, which he had no doubt would be extensive and very useful. But to his dismay, everything was written in pencil, and in Thranduil’s handwriting this meant it was perfectly, completely, and utterly illegible.

    “You’re kidding me, right?” Bard said, thrusting the open book under Thranduil’s nose

    Thranduil went scarlet when he saw his own writing. “I haven’t shared my books with anyone before. Improving my handwriting has never really been a priority.”

    “Surely you’re not saying you can read this? You don’t even need to be dyslexic to have trouble,” said Bard, shaking his head. “It almost blends into the paper!”

    “Now you’re just being rude,” Thranduil said, though it was not out of anger. In fact, he looked rather amused at Bard’s astonishment. “I can read it.”

    Bard snorted dubiously. “Prove it. What does that word say?”

    “Worship,” Thranduil said.

    “What’s this? Wavy?”

    “Weaving.”

    Bard shook his head again, pushing the book back to Thranduil. “I think I’ll just wing it and try annotating it myself. Thanks, though.”

    They fell back into their mutual silence and, when the bell rang for next period, they packed up their things and walked to Chemistry together.

    “Have you ever considered getting tinted glasses for your dyslexia?” Thranduil suggested as they crossed the courtyard and entered the science wing.

    Bard rolled his eyes. “I used to have them when I was a kid, but they didn’t work. Tinted lenses are such a scam. They only give the illusion of visual aid. They're helpful for computer screen glare, but otherwise I don't waste my time."

    “I didn’t know that,” Thranduil said.

    He tucked his hair behind his ear as they walked. Bard stared out of the corner of his eye, half-wondering how Thranduil would react to having his hair touched – it looked so soft.

    But Bard restrained himself and took his usual seat in the chemistry lab.

    Across from him, he noticed that Glorfindel and Ecthelion were both deeply flushed and kept smirking at each other. Bard exchange a significant look with Thranduil as they retrieved their books, but did not say anything. He had long suspected that there was something going on between the other two, and it seemed Thranduil was also aware of this. 

    The teacher began the lesson and Bard was relieved to see they were doing theory work that day. He tore a corner out of his notebook, scribbling on it quickly before sliding it over to Thranduil.

    **Please tell me what we’re witnessing is exactly what I think it is.**

    Thranduil was very discreet about reading the note. He crumpled it into his hand and hid it from view in his pencil case. Bard saw him bite down on his lip to stop from smiling as he wrote a reply.

    _They are so bad at hiding it._

    **How long have they been dating?**

    _They’re not._

    Bard frowned at this response. There was no more room on the paper, so he tore off another corner.

    **Why not?**

_It’s complicated. This doesn’t happen very often._

    **So it’s happened before?**

_It’s been going on since last year. But we don’t know anything about it, okay?_

    Bard took a moment to cotton on, unsure of what Thranduil was trying to say. But with a surge of warmth he realised that Glorfindel and Ecthelion trusted him. Whatever their reasons were for keeping such a secret, it was obviously important, but they trusted Bard with it just as much as they trusted Thranduil, and that meant more to Bard than all the acceptance in the world.

    Crumpling up the notes, Bard stuffed them into the pocket of his blazer and turned his attention to the blackboard where the teacher was writing up questions. Thranduil was already flicking through his textbook to answer them.

 

    By the end of the day, Bard was exhausted. Even after a month of adapting to being at school again, he still wasn't entirely used to it. He took his skateboard and books from his locker and then ran to catch the bus with the others.

    Someone prodded his shoulder from the seat behind. When Bard turned around, he started at the sight of Glorfindel, whose nose was so close to Bard's they were almost touching. He grinned. “We’re going to the East Bight after training tomorrow, you coming?”

    “What’s the East Bight?” Bard inquired.

    “The woods outside of town. There’s an abandoned house there.”

    “Creepy,” said Bard.

    “It used to be our secret hang-out,” Egalmoth piped up to Bard's right, leaning across the bus aisle between the two rows. “But word got out and all the bratty juniors are infesting the place. We spent last year trying to reclaim it, but they’re resilient little fucks.”

    Bard laughed. “How can you claim a whole house to yourselves, though?”

    “We found it, so it’s ours,” said Glorfindel indignantly. “And if we hang around enough, the juniors will eventually get the message. We want to set up a television in there tomorrow and haul in some furniture. You in?”

    “Definitely. I have an old coffee table at home that’s going to be thrown out, do you guys want that too?”

    “Now you’re getting it!” Glorfindel exclaimed, smacking his fists against the back of Bard’s seat. “We’ll pick it up on the way over.”

 

    Egalmoth was the only person who could drive out of Glorfindel’s group of friends and the football team combined. It was a skill Bard thought was perhaps too 'refined' for those old enough to take the test for their license, or else one deemed unnecessary in the light of chauffeurs and slightly more motivated friends. As the only motivated friend, Egalmoth waited patiently with his station wagon in the faculty parking lot after training on Wednesday, swinging his keys around his finger. Bard went over, his hair still wet from the showers.

    “Who else is coming?” he asked.

    “Practically half the football team,” Egalmoth answered. “The girls are coming too. And Thranduil.”

    “Thranduil’s coming?”

    “Yeah, he’s our sofa supplier.”

    “How are we going to get a sofa all the way to the woods?” said Bard, eyeing the station wagon dubiously.

    “Thranduil’s uncle has a truck. He said we could borrow it if we promise to clean it for him.”

    “I thought you needed a license to drive a truck,” Bard countered.

    “It’s a small truck,” said Egalmoth.

    “How is everyone else getting there?”

    “Mostly by bus. We’re the muscle.”

    Bard couldn’t help but feel a little doubtful about the designated ‘muscle.’ Coming over through the parking lot he spotted Glorfindel, Nimrodel, Finduilas, and a dark-haired boy Bard did not know. It wasn’t that he questioned their collective strength, but rather their ability to work as a team to lift heavy objects.

    They all tossed their school bags into the boot of Egalmoth’s car and piled inside. Nimrodel wrestled Glorfindel to the ground over the front seat, so he squeezed into the back seat next to Bard, Finduilas and the other boy. The station wagon was roomy, but four people in a three-seater was pushing it and Bard was left without a seatbelt.

    “Where are we going first?” Egalmoth prompted, starting the car.

    “Depends; will your table fit in the boot, Bard?” Glorfindel said.

    “It should,” Bard replied. “It’s not very big.”

    “Bard’s house first, then.”

    Egalmoth pulled out of the parking lot and took off down the road. Bard’s house was only fifteen minutes away, and with a pang he realised his dad would be home. If he caught them taking the table, he would probably have a fit, regardless of the fact that it was going to be thrown out anyway.

    At Bard’s request, Egalmoth parked the car a couple of houses away. Then, Bard and Nimrodel climbed out and hurried down the street.

    “Why don’t you want your parents seeing us?” she muttered as they jumped silently over the squeaky front gate.

    “My dad has… issues,” Bard said, ducking until he was beneath the view of the front window. “He won’t notice that the table is gone, but he hates it when I do weird stuff.”

    “And recycling a table falls under that category?”

    Bard nodded and let Nimrodel in through the back gate. They crept down the side of the house and around to the yard. Bard made sure no one was in the sitting room and then they grabbed the little coffee table from the porch. It wasn’t heavy, but difficult to manoeuvre when they were avoiding being seen.

    But they successfully got it into the boot and, when they got back into the car, Bard was grateful no one asked him any questions.

    Thranduil’s house was next. Bard was admittedly excited to see it. For some reason, he was expecting a manor – like Elrond or Glorfindel’s house – but it was practically a cottage tucked at the end of a court. The front garden was amass with the last of summer's flowers, and a large tree climbed up to the second storey window.

    Egalmoth pulled up behind a truck that had “Woodland Grocer’s” written on either side of it.

    “His uncle’s a grocer?” said Bard, getting out of the car.

    “Yeah,” said Glorfindel. “You know that huge store that sells the raspberry liquorice worth killing for? That’s Oropher’s place.”

     “Oh, I’ve been there. It’s nice.”

    They went through the front gate and up the steps to the front door. Glorfindel knocked elaborately with both fists, and did not stop until the door was opened by Thranduil. He looked very disgruntled and was in the midst of putting on a very old, very battered pair of shoes.

    “Where are the goods?” said Glorfindel.

    “Out the back,” said Thranduil, standing up straight. “I’ve started moving it all out of the shed.”

    “All?” Bard repeated. “Isn’t it just the one sofa?”

    “’Sofa supplier’ suggests more than one, Bard,” Glorfindel said.

    “What, so we’re picking up a lounge suite?”

    “Our old one, yes,” said Thranduil. “And I found some other stuff we can take as well.”

    Glorfindel gasped. “Please, please, _please_ tell me you found that jukebox you used to have at your old place?”

    Thranduil scoffed. “I wish. But how does a ping-pong table sound?”

    Glorfindel made a compliant face, his mouth downturned. “Yeah, yeah, that’s pretty wicked.”

    They went into the house, filing into the corridor like ducks. It was immaculately clean inside and smelled faintly of pine needles. Past a flight of stairs, they entered upon a sitting room where two people lay on a sofa in front of a television playing day-time cartoons.

    “Glorfindel!”

    A small boy leapt from a puddle of blankets. He couldn’t have been older than nine. He launched himself at Glorfindel, wrapping him into a hug.

    “Hey, Legolas,” said Glorfindel, grinning down at the boy. “How come you’re not at school?”

    “I have the flu!” said Legolas happily.

    Glorfindel wheezed, taking an involuntary step back. “Germ.”

    The other person on the sofa had turned around to watch this exchange and inspect who had entered the house. Bard knew him at once to be Thranduil’s Uncle Oropher, who had been brought up quite often by both Thranduil and Glorfindel. He was tall and good-looking, with the same gossamer silver hair as Thranduil, though cropped short and neatly styled.

    “Do you guys want a hand?” he asked.

    “Take a breather, old-timer,” said Glorfindel easily. “We wouldn’t want you to break a nail.”

    Oropher sneered. “Watch your attitude, Glorfindel. I know where you live.”

    “It’s a small town, mate, and I’ve got the biggest house.”

    To Bard’s surprise, Oropher stuck up his middle finger and then returned his attention to the television. Thranduil rolled his eyes and gestured for everyone to follow him.

    He showed them out to the yard where a tin shed awaited them, its doors open and a blue sofa poking out onto the grass. Glorfindel and Thranduil took one end of it, while Nimrodel and Bard took the other. Together, they hauled it around the side of the house to the truck on the street.

    It took them nearly thirty minutes to get everything from the shed to the truck. Oropher eventually got up and took pity on the teenagers, helping them take out the ping-pong table and a couple of old mattresses. Then, he handed over the keys to the truck, his face very close to Egalmoth’s as he spoke.

    “If I see so much as a scratch that wasn’t there before, I will sue you and use the money to open a fish factory right next to your house.” He smiled, which only made the unusual threat all the more unsettling.

    Egalmoth managed a forced laugh, though it half sounded like he was crying. He took the keys and got into the truck with Thranduil and the boy whose name Bard had discovered was Erestor. The others climbed into the back, sliding the roller door down. They switched on some torches to light up the inside, and then took seats on the sofas. The truck lurched and they all slid around an inch or two on the floor.

    “Does Thranduil live with his uncle?” said Bard, speaking up now that Thranduil was not present. He had been curious of this for a while, for Thranduil had never mentioned parents, and there were no photos in the house to suggest there was any other adult except Oropher. Bard had initially figured him to be on close terms with the family, picking up Thranduil’s siblings and being involved in a way Bard’s relatives had never been. But seeing where Thranduil lived, and the comfortable nature of which Oropher lounged about the house suggested to Bard that the situation was entirely different.

    “Yeah,” Glorfindel answered. “Didn’t Thranduil tell you that?”

    “Not really,” Bard admitted. “I mean, he’s mentioned his uncle, but I just thought he lived close-by or something. I never considered they actually lived together.”

    Glorfindel looked a bit uncomfortable and Bard almost didn’t want him to say anything more on the subject, but Nimrodel cut in and set the conversation up for disaster.

    “I don’t get why he keeps it a secret,” she said. “Everyone knows what happened.”

    “Nimrodel,” Glorfindel snapped.

    Bard couldn’t keep his curiosity to himself now. “Why, what happened?”

    In the dim, broken torchlight, it was clear that Nimrodel wanted to speak. But she turned her judgement to Glorfindel instead, her expression pained, as if she actually regretted saying anything in the first place.

    Glorfindel sighed. “I know Ecthelion said it’s not really your business - and it’s not - but you’re likely to find out anyway, so it’s better to hear it from us than from some half-wit gossip.”

    “Surely it’s not as bad as all that,” said Bard.

    “It is and it isn’t. The whole thing depends on how you look at it and who told you. A lot of people at school blew it way out of proportion.” Glorfindel took a breath, preparing himself. “In Year Ten, right at the start of the year, Thranduil’s parents died in a house fire. They were really famous scientists – they dedicated their lives to chemical propagation and biology – so it was broadcasted pretty heavily. Anyway… a lot of students somehow twisted the story and made it sound like Thranduil was responsible for the fire. And it just went downhill from there.”

    There was a stagnant pause, which Bard eventually filled with a resonating, “whoa.”

    “It’s so unfair what the school did to him,” said Finduilas. “Even Elrond was a bit of a dick about it, and they were friends.”

    “To be fair, though, Thranduil didn’t help his case by acting the way he did,” said Nimrodel. “He just stuck his nose in a book and ignored everyone.”

    “You know it’s more complicated that, Nim. You can't blame him for not defending himself,” said Glorfindel, sounding quite angry now.

    “That’s so much worse than I thought it would be,” said Bard, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can kind of understand why he’s like that now.”

    “Look, don’t tell him we told you. Pretend you still don’t know. I think he kind of likes that he can be who he really is around you, and not the person the rest of the school made him up to be.”

    Bard was taken aback by this. “You mean he likes me? We barely even talk to each other.”

    Glorfindel shrugged. “He’s brought you up a couple of times. He hasn’t done that with anyone for nearly two years.”

    Bard pondered all this in silence while the others changed the subject to the approaching mid-term break. He felt sick and guilty, wishing he hadn’t asked – wishing he truly didn’t know. Thranduil’s secret made Bard think of his own family, and of the similar fate his mother had faced, and was still facing. He too refused to talk about it with anyone – he didn’t want people working out things that they didn’t need to know – but he thought Thranduil might understand what it was really like to feel rejected and helpless, even if it was just in response to something much worse. Maybe they had more in common than Bard originally thought.

  

    The afternoon drifted by in a long journey of picking up furniture and people. By the time they arrived at the abandoned house on the outskirts of the East Bight, the back of the truck was crammed to bursting with sofas, tables, boxes of miscellaneous items, and teenagers. They all toppled into each other whenever the truck made a turn or stopped abruptly.

    “What a dump,” was the first thing Bard said when the back door was rolled up in front of an old, brick, weather-beaten house.

    “Don’t talk about our baby that way!” Niënor exclaimed, looking hurt. She jumped out of the truck, taking in a view of the house.

    It really wasn’t anything special. The walls were amass with graffiti, and not the nice-looking kind. The grass was over a foot high, and half the windows had been smashed in. Bard examined it sceptically while Thranduil and Erestor got out of the front of the truck with Egalmoth. Bard felt a fresh wave of guilt when he saw Thranduil again, and he had to look away, as if he were seeing something indecent. Though that only made him feel worse.

    The group that had come in the truck started unloading the furniture. The house was locked up pretty tightly, but there was a way in through the garage. Gil-Galad unlocked the roller door with a hair-pin and a metal ruler. Once inside there, the door leading into the house was already broken, so it swung open easily.

    The house itself was quite small and smelled strongly of burnt wood and spray paint. The two bedrooms had been assailed with ‘art’ and the kitchen was actually just smashed-up cabinets and broken liquor bottles. However, Bard had seen worse abandoned buildings. All it needed was a decent clean and some bug repellent.

    “What will happen if the council decide to take the place down? I mean, no one here actually owns it, right?” he asked.

    “It used to belong to some old lady who was probably a witch,” said Gil-Galad. “But it’s practically in the middle of nowhere, so I doubt the council will take any interest in it. As long as we’re not doing drugs or starting fires, I don’t think they’ll care very much that a bunch of teenagers have claimed it.”

    They began hauling the furniture inside. Bard took hold of the television with Mablung. It was old and heavy and Bard was not entirely convinced it would work in a house that had no electricity.

    “Erestor is going to hook it up to a battery,” Glorfindel explained when Bard brought this up.

    “That doesn’t seem practical,” said Finduilas, who was passing by with Niënor and the ping-pong table.

    “Probably not, but we’re hoping the battery will give it enough juice to last for a while. Otherwise, we’ll find something else to entertain us here.”

    It was a tiring afternoon of cleaning and moving furniture, the sun beating down hot and restless on the backs of necks. Multiple people were injured, while others just had their feelings hurt from being shouted at. But, within an hour or two, all the furniture had a place in the little house, and the toilet was removed for hygienic reasons. While Erestor started hooking the television up to an enormous battery, everyone else settled themselves on the sofas and mattresses, passing around drinks and snacks. In total, there were a dozen people, but Glorfindel explained that it was open to many other students.

    “Elrond refuses point blank to come here – he thinks he’s too fancy – and Erestor only came to do the TV because he’s a champ, but heaps of people hang out here. It’s not rare to come by and find out more furniture has been brought in, or stuff has been left behind.”

    “I think I’ve got it,” Erestor said then, emerging from behind the television.

    Glorfindel picked up the remote and pressed the power button. With a piercing sound, it switched on, and the entire house cheered, even though it was just a blue screen for now. From behind the set, Erestor started suddenly, as if shocked. Then he frowned at the battery.

    “Better keep an eye on it,” he said. “It won’t explode or anything, but the fuses might smoke after a few hours.”

    “Noted. Can you set up the antenna as well?” said Glorfindel.

    Erestor did so, positioning it here and there and bending it until it finally achieved a signal. Bard figured it was especially hard this far out of town, and commended Erestor for his effort, but Erestor merely shrugged, and then left the house to catch the bus home.

    Glorfindel flicked through the channels until he found cartoons. Bard fell back onto one of the blue sofas, his arms and back sore from lifting. Thranduil was next to him, his hands cupped around a can of soda that he hadn’t opened. Bard hated to admit it, but he saw Thranduil differently now. He understood the shadow that lingered behind his eyes and the reserved, unassuming presence he offered. He was scared to be whispered about; scared to be misunderstood again. Bard sympathised. He was scared of that too.


	5. ground control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil makes a house call, Bard plays Space Oddity, and Glorfindel loses something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very Thranduil-and-Glorfindel-centric but it's for a good reason ok. I hope you guys like it!

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**So maybe I want to give you something more than a catalog of non-definitive acts, something other than the desperation.**

 

* * *

 

 

It was the week before mid-term break. When Thranduil arrived at his first class on Monday, he noticed at once that the seat next to him was vacant. Bard was not there. Thranduil thought he might have slept in, but he did not show up for Chemistry after recess, and he did not pass the Global Politics classroom on his way to the library for his free period before lunch.

    Of course, it was no strange thing for a student to not come to school. Even Thranduil took days off when he was unwell. But what struck him about Bard’s first absence was how it affected him. It took him a while to understand his own mind, but Thranduil realised he felt lonely without Bard.

    At the end of Literature, he collected his books and turned to ask Bard if he had finished the essay for _Metamorphoses_ , only to remember that he was not there to be asked. Thranduil felt odd – like something was stuck in the back of his throat – for he liked to talk about the assigned books for class, but Bard was the only person who actually listened. He hadn’t fully appreciated just how constant Bard had become. Some days, he was the only student Thranduil would even speak to.

    It took until after lunch for Thranduil to shake off the despondency. He went to the library to study, and forgot about Bard entirely.

   However, before the bell rang for the end of the day, he was approached by the senior co-ordinator, an exasperated and overworked woman named Nellas who Thranduil suspected had some form of severe anxiety. She was clutching a manila folder and, surprisingly enough, Bard’s skateboard.

    “Thranduil, you know where Bard lives, don’t you? He’s quite close to you?”

    Thranduil nodded.

    “He’s going to be away until after mid-term. This is the work he needs to stay on top of; could you take it to his house after school?”

    “Um, I guess so,” Thranduil said, accepting the manila folder. “And his skateboard too?”

    “If you don’t mind,” Nellas said with a wide smile. “He had it confiscated on Friday, but I thought he might want it back.”

    She leaned it against the desk, thanked Thranduil, and then hurried out of the library. Thranduil sighed deeply and packed up his things, wondering why Bard was taking a whole week off school right before break. If he was sick, it was probably pretty bad. Hopefully he had already handed in his essay.

    Thranduil left with all the other students when the bell rang, walking with a few stragglers towards the primary school. He felt awkward carrying a skateboard. It was unexpectedly heavy and he frequently swapped whichever arm was holding it as he walked. He didn’t dare ride it, not wishing to stack it on a street full of people.

    Legolas and Tauriel were very curious of it when they met at the gates.

    “Is that yours?” Legolas asked at once, not saying hello.

    “No, it belongs to a friend. I’m returning it,” Thranduil explained.

    “I didn’t know you had a friend,” said Legolas.

    Thranduil frowned, but said nothing. He jerked his head towards the street and his siblings followed him to the bus stop.

    When they got off the bus, Thranduil only walked them part of the way home. He knew Oropher had finished work early, so he told Tauriel and Legolas to go on ahead, trusting them not to get lost or into trouble on their own street. Then he returned and caught the bus again, riding it six stops back.

    He was nervous to approach Bard’s house, somewhat afraid of what awaited him behind that front door. After Bard’s strange actions the previous Wednesday, Thranduil did wonder at the relationship he had with his family, particularly his father. If Bard was home-schooled for over two years, they must have gotten along to some degree. What had happened in that time to make Bard so secretive? It was understandable for Thranduil to keep quiet about his family, but he still mentioned his uncle and siblings without hesitation. Bard didn’t talk about his parents or relatives at all. 

    With a deep breath to steady himself, Thranduil walked up to the front door, hitching the skateboard under his arm. He knocked.

    There was no answer for a very long time. He was just about to knock again when the door swung open very suddenly. A woman stood in the doorway, pyjama-clad and tousle-haired, yawning behind a dainty hand. Thranduil assumed at once that she was Bard’s mother; they looked a great deal alike, though she was short and blonde, where Bard was tall and dark. She had a smile that could probably cure all scrapes and bruises.

    “Sorry,” she said, yawning again. “If you’re selling something, I don’t want it.”

    Thranduil shifted comfortably. “I’m just here to drop off Bard’s homework.”

    Bard’s mother rubbed her eyes sleepily and examined Thranduil up and down, taking in his height, uniform and schoolbag.

    “Oh. Sorry, dear,” she said, yawning again. “Come in, come in.”

    Thranduil wanted to protest – he’d had no intention of going inside – but Bard’s mother was already shuffling up a flight of stairs in her slippers, leaving the front door wide open. With a heart-stopping effort, Thranduil went inside and shut the door behind him.

    The hallway was very dark and cluttered with objects that seemed to almost be there by mistake; a tottering tower of books, two empty pot plants with chipped plates and mugs inside them, an old cassette player, and a fishing rod. Thranduil bypassed all this and followed Bard’s mother up the carpeted stairs.

    It was brighter on the second floor. The windows were not curtained and the afternoon sun engulfed the walls lined with photos and paintings. Thranduil could see down to the lower landing over the side of the stair bannister. Bard’s mother was already opening a door further on ahead, poking her head into a dark bedroom. Thranduil felt embarrassed; he just wanted to drop off Bard’s homework and skateboard and be done with it. He didn’t have the time or patience for house calls. He wasn’t friendly enough with Bard for that.

    But Bard’s mother seemed excited to see Thranduil. She beamed at him, her flushed face positively radiant.

    “I’m Sian, by the way,” she said, patting down her hair now that she was fully conscious.

    “Um, I’m Thranduil,” said Thranduil, adjusting the skateboard under his arm again.

    “Oh, I know you! Bard’s mentioned you quite a lot. Just the other week he was telling me how nice it was to have a friend as interested in books as he is.”

    Thranduil blushed, feeling more embarrassed than ever. “Um, yeah.”

    “Will you stay for dinner?” Sian asked.

    “I really have to be getting back, actually,” Thranduil answered apologetically.

    “Of course, of course. Well, if you ever have a fancy for –”

    “ _Ma_.”

    Thranduil looked over Sian’s head to see Bard standing in the doorway of his bedroom. He looked exasperated and messy, wearing a too-small t-shirt and track pants. He glared at his mother and she seemed to get the message. With another smile at Thranduil, she went back downstairs.

    “Sorry,” Bard mumbled, walking over to Thranduil. “She can be a bit much sometimes. Hey, my board!”

    Thranduil handed the skateboard over, glad to finally be rid of its bulky weight. He gave Bard the manila folder as well.

    “Are you sick?” he asked.

    Bard hesitated for half a second, but then shook his head.

    “Then… why are you sleeping in the middle of the day?”

    Bard laughed. “Mum couldn’t sleep last night so I stayed up with her watching old James Bond movies.”

    “Sounds like a wild night,” Thranduil quipped with a grin.

    “She likes Roger Moore.”

    They fell silent then, standing opposite each other as if they were strangers. But Bard spoke again, perking up with a sudden thought.

    “Would you hand in my essay for me? It’s due on Wednesday, right?”

    “Did you finish it?” said Thranduil.

    “Barely.”

    Bard returned to his room. Thranduil went as well, unsure of what else to do with himself. He watched Bard open the curtains, bringing light to a small, but relatively tidy bedroom. Thranduil gazed around while Bard rummaged through the papers and books on a desk by the window. The room smelled of sleep and the deodorant Bard wore. There was a single bed, the covers navy blue and recently slept in. Thranduil spotted headphones tangled up near the pillow. There was also a rickety stool with a turn table, and a box of vinyl records on the floor. A wardrobe loomed in the left corner, though it seemed half its contents had been piled onto the desk chair.

    “Here,” said Bard, handing over a plastic slip of more paper than Thranduil had been expecting.

    He took the essay, still staring at the record player. All of Bard’s other belongings were pretty standard – odd piles of books, CDs, a tube of Pringles, some old action-figures from his childhood, a calendar that was still hung on June – so having such a relic from before his time really stood out.

    “It ma's from when she was a kid,” Bard explained when he saw what Thranduil was staring at. 

    Putting his bag down on the floor, Thranduil went over to the box of records, kneeling down to flick through them. A lot of it was old, from the seventies and eighties, the cardboard covers frayed and torn. Thranduil didn’t listen to a lot of music, and what was in the box certainly didn’t attract his attention, but he thought this only made it more interesting to find in Bard’s room. Some of the vinyls were new. Thranduil never would have pegged Bard to be a David Bowie fan.

    “This seems a bit more your style,” he said, sliding out a Motley Crue vinyl.

    Bard laughed. “I actually really don’t like them. I only listen to about half of what’s in there, and most of it is it mine that I bought.”

    “Which is your favourite?”

    “ _Space Oddity_. Super original, I know.”

    Bard crouched down beside Thranduil and drew the record out. Slipping it out of its sheath, he set it carefully on the turn table, and a song began to play. Thranduil listened to it for a while, astonished to realise he had heard it before. Vaguely, he remembered a parlour, and the silhouettes of two people dancing, cast in golden sunlight.

    “Why aren’t you going to school this week?” he asked quietly.

    “I just… can’t,” Bard replied, his eyes fixed on the spinning vinyl.

    Thranduil stood up, catching up his bag. He didn’t want to listen to the song anymore. “Do you want me to take notes for you in class?”

    “You’d do that?” Bard looked surprised.

    “Sure.”

    Bard got to his feet as well, smiling his crooked smile. “Thanks.”

    “I have to go. Um, I guess I’ll see you on Friday? I can come by after school again and drop off any more stuff you need,” Thranduil said.

    He almost didn’t see it, but Bard’s expression became horrified at this.

    “No. I’ll go to your house, if it’s all the same to you,” he said, taking hasty steps out of his room.

    “Okay.” Thranduil followed Bard down the stairs.

    They said goodbye at the door, Thranduil tucking Bard’s essay into his bag. He went down the street to catch the bus again, dreading the classes he had with Bard that week, for Bard would not be there. It had been a long time since Thranduil mourned the absence of a classmate. He had forgotten how it felt to miss someone.

   

    Glorfindel was not impressed to learn that Bard would be away for training on Wednesday. He caught up with Thranduil during lunch time on Tuesday and pouted into his food. They sat outside with Ecthelion at the usual bench under the magnolia tree. It was no longer flowering and, in the autumn breeze, had been stripped of any remaining petals.

    “Do you know why he won’t be coming to school?” Thranduil asked. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

    Glorfindel shrugged. “I have no idea. But if he isn't sick, I reckon it will be family-related. He tries to hide it, but you can tell there’s something going on at home.”

    “I’ve noticed that too. He hasn’t told you anything?”

    “He did once mention looking after his mum while his dad was at work. I don’t think he meant to say it, so I didn’t ask about it, but it might be something to do with that,” Glorfindel said thoughtfully, unwrapping a sandwich.

    “That must be hard, after being home-schooled for such a long time,” said Thranduil. 

    “You know, aside from you, I don’t know a single kid who likes school as much as Bard does. I’d call him an egghead, but I’ve never actually seen him study. He just knows all the answers already.”

    “He told me he’s ahead of the senior curriculum,” Ecthelion cut in. “His dad is a university teacher, so he learned stuff that isn’t even in the syllabus. That’s how he got into Advanced Math; it was probably pretty easy for him.”

    Glorfindel whistled impressively. “I take it back then; he _is_ an egghead. No wonder he likes you so much, Thranduil.”

    Thranduil couldn’t stop the flush that came to his cheeks when he heard this. He had assumed Bard enjoyed his company, but to actually be _liked_ by another student… surely Glorfindel was only teasing.

    “I’m not an egghead,” was all he managed to say in his defence.

    Even Ecthelion laughed.

    “Come off it,” he said. “Your grades are the highest in the whole school. If you studied any more, you’d live here.”

    “It’s a coping mechanism,” Thranduil stammered angrily. “It’s all I’ve got, okay?”

    “Okay, okay,” said Ecthelion, lifting up his hands warily. “I was just joking. I mean, there are worse things to help you deal with your shit.”

    Thranduil did not miss the significant look Ecthelion shot towards Glorfindel, and neither did Glorfindel, it seemed, for he bristled very suddenly, his curls tightening.

    “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he puffed.

    “Not this again,” Ecthelion groaned.

    “You are pissing me off on purpose!”

    “No, you’re just behaving like a child!”

    “How can you say I’m a coping mechanism? How can you bring me down to something like that?”

    “You know perfectly well that I’m not doing that.”

    “Then what was that look, huh? You’re so full of shit!”

    Thranduil sighed. “Can’t you two work this out in private?”

    Glorfindel and Ecthelion looked at him, apparently surprised he was still there. Ecthelion blushed, pulling his sleeves down uncomfortably. But Glorfindel was unabashed and fuming.

    “You can’t brush me to the side once I’m of no use to you,” he said.

    “Glorfindel, we’ve already been over this –”

    “Did you guys have _another_ fight?” Thranduil interrupted, genuinely concerned now.

    “He refuses to come out to his parents,” Glorfindel said, pointing rudely at Ecthelion, his voice rising by a full octave.

    “You know why I can’t,” Ecthelion snapped. “Do you want me to get kicked out?”

    “It’s not like you would have nowhere to go if you did.” Glorfindel sounded desperate now, his hands curled into beseeching fists. “Mum and dad love you. I love you!”

    Ecthelion jumped to his feet. It was rare for him to get angry, but when he did, it was frightening. His tall build and jet black hair emphasised every emotion. He was like a black fire. Tears brimmed his eyes, but he stood fast, glaring at Glorfindel with unmistakable hatred.

    “Shut up!” he shouted. “You selfish prick; you have no idea what you’re asking me to do.”

    He stormed off, leaving Glorfindel pale and trembling, his hand covering his mouth. Thranduil sat awkwardly across from him, wishing he hadn’t witnessed that, for it put him in a place he didn’t like to be.

    But Glorfindel was his friend, and Thranduil knew he had to step up and be the person that was needed just this once. Glorfindel was close to tears, and there was no one else he could talk to, because nobody else knew like Thranduil did.

    “Fuck,” Glorfindel muttered, wiping his eyes hurriedly. “Fuck.”

    “Are you okay?” Thranduil asked.

    Glorfindel started to nod, but he shook his head instead, sniffing loudly. “We nearly got caught on the weekend. We were just… fooling around in his room. It wasn’t planned – supposed to be studying. But we got really carried away and his parents walked in and –”

    He faltered, taking a deep breath and sniffing again.

    “I think it scared him. There’s been so many close-calls. But I’m so tired of hiding it, you know? I get that it’s hard for him, but I wish he would just stand up to them.”

   Thranduil scratched the back of his hand absently, wishing he had something useful to say that might resonate with Glorfindel. But he only felt bad that his friend was in such a hard situation. Thranduil had met Ecthelion’s parents. They weren’t intentionally cruel people. They simply didn’t understand, and that made them unkind.

    “I guess not everyone can be brave like you,” he said. “Maybe Ecthelion just needs more time.”

    “But what if it isn’t that? What if this is all we’re ever going to be?”

    “If Ecthelion didn’t want more than this, he would say so. It's like you said; he’s scared, and I think he needs someone to help him be brave. Picking fights with him isn’t going to achieve that.”

    Glorfindel sniffed again, wiping his nose on the end of his sleeve. His green eyes were overbright with tears.

    “Why does he have to do that, though?” he said thickly. “He doesn’t talk about it, and then implies shit that makes it worse. I can’t get through to him.”

    “I’m sorry, Glorfindel.”

    Glorfindel ran a shaky hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ears and away from his face.

    “I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said. “He deserves better than me, anyway.”

    He stood from his seat and left before Thranduil could get another word in. He watched Glorfindel walk away, wishing he could somehow project the hope his friend needed.

    But Glorfindel and Ecthelion did not resolve their quarrel that day, or even the day after. By the time Friday came around and the buzzing excitement of mid-term floated about the school, Thranduil had a feeling they were officially over.

    “I mean, we can’t exactly break up if we weren’t technically together in the first place,” Glorfindel grumbled at recess, popping open a packet of crisps.

    “But you’re friends,” Thranduil reasoned. “You always make up after a fight.”

    Glorfindel shrugged half-heartedly. “I don’t think we can come back from this one.”

     “Well, at least you can take mid-term to cool off,” Thranduil said, undeterred. “It might do you good to spend some time apart.”

    “Geez, I thought I was supposed to be the optimistic one,” said Glorfindel with a wry smile. “You’re putting me to shame, Thran.”

    “It’s off day for me,” Thranduil said, grinning wrly.

    Glorfindel suddenly straightened up, his hand settling inside his crisp packet. “Shit, I forgot! It’s today isn’t it?”

    “What’s today?” said Thranduil, though he knew where this was going.

    “You know,” Glorfindel prompted uncertainly. “The day it happened.”

    Thranduil sighed, slumping forward on the bench. “Yeah.”

    “I can’t believe it’s already been two years. Are you doing okay?”

    “Legolas wants to go to the cemetery after school,” Thranduil said dully.

    Glorfindel grimaced, but resumed eating crisps. “Can’t your uncle take him?”

    “He’s not exactly the sympathetic type, especially when it comes to mum and dad,” Thranduil said. “I mean, last week, Tauriel was upset that a boy at school had been pulling her hair, and Oropher told her to ‘deck him’ the next time he did it.”

    Glorfindel snorted with laughter. “That’s good advice!”

    “She’s six!”

    “It’s still better than saying that’s what boys do when they like her.”

    The bell rang, so Thranduil and Glorfindel gathered their things and started walking towards the science building. Glorfindel stuffed the remainder of his crisps into his blazer pocket to eat in class, while Thranduil tied his hair up in preparation for dirt. It looked like it was going to rain, but that never stopped Aredhel from taking them outside for Environmental Science.

    Before they parted for their respective lessons, Glorfindel tugged Thranduil on the sleeve of his sweater.

    “By the way, some of us are heading out to the East Bight after school today. You in?”

    “I can’t. Bard is coming over to pick up notes for class,” Thranduil said.

    Glorfindel raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Yeah? And that’ll take the whole afternoon, will it?”

    “N-no,” Thranduil spluttered, colour rising to his cheeks. “I just don’t know when he’ll be around and –”

    “Save it,” Glorfindel interrupting, smirking. “Can’t you come afterwards? Bard will probably want to go too.”

    “Not today, Glorfindel. I just. Can’t.”

    Glorfindel dropped his smug act and nodded sympathetically. “I understand. Pointless to ask, really. But, hey, don’t be a stranger next week, okay? I know you’re not big on holidays, but at least answer my texts this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are Thursday night/Friday depending on your timezone :)


	6. lost and found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid-term is a thing, and Bard and Thranduil exchange favours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is ~~ all over the place and it wouldn't let me work with it, but it's here and written and i can just get it out of the way.

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**Oh, the things we invent when we are scared, and want to be rescued.**

 

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Bard could hear his parents arguing downstairs. It wasn't something that particularly bothered him – in fact, he rather enjoyed hearing his dad get berated like a child – but his mum liked to pretend nothing was wrong afterwards. She was determined to play happy families, no matter how far from the truth they were, so Bard obliged by putting on a record to drown out the noise. He could never quite bring himself to pretend the same way she did.

    But even over the sound of Nick Cave, Bard still heard that his dad had been suspended from work, _again_.

    “– and I’ll come back from chemo only to find out Bard’s had to take care of himself _and_ you while you’ve been gambling with your drinking buddies! Have you any idea how that makes me feel?”

    Bard fell back onto his bed with a groan, trying to ignore the anger and resentment that swept through his chest.

    His phone lit up beside him. Desperate for any kind of distraction, he opened it to view a message... from Percy, of all people.

>     _Wanna catch up this week? Mid-term is a thing over there, right?_

    Bard rolled his eyes and deleted the message, thinking of a hundred better things he would rather do than hang out with his old city friends. Not that he even considered them as such anymore. They had barely seen one another after Bard left Laketown College, though he had offered his time often and earnestly.

    But now that he was at Rhovanion, Bard knew what it was like to have friends that actually seemed to like him. Friends that tagged him in photos and sent him messages and provided him with a legitimate reason to have social media accounts. His new friends made him realise how lousy his old ones had treated him, and how much better off he was without them.

    The quarrel downstairs had stopped. Bard took the record off its dial and went to get some food. His mother was in the kitchen, aggressively making a cup of tea. Bard could tell she was properly upset, for she did not even acknowledge him when he entered. Usually, she perked right up when she saw her son, determined to save face no matter what he’d heard. Bard felt bad for her; she tried too hard to keep the peace in a household that too easily fell apart.

    “How long is dad off work this time?” Bard asked casually, taking leftover pasta from the fridge.

    Sian sighed. “Two weeks.”

    Bard said nothing, putting the pasta in the microwave. He was sick and tired of his dad screwing them over because he couldn’t keep his head at work. Bard understood that it was hard for him not being able to do what he enjoyed, but the situation was hard for everyone, and getting suspended was far from making it any easier.

    “Will you be okay here when I go to the hospital next week?”

    Bard looked at his mum, the microwave whirring to fill the silence between them. They both knew that he and his dad would rip each other’s heads off while she was gone. Bard had not been looking forward to being home alone during mid-term, but being home alone with his dad was considerably worse.

    “Maybe – maybe I’ll stay with a friend,” he mumbled, though he had no idea who might take him in for a whole week.

    Sian brightened at this. “That would be a nice way to spend the break – as long as you stay on top of your homework.”

    Bard nodded absently as the microwave beeped. He took out the food and retreated back to his room to eat. He thought about who would be willing to let him stay at their house for a week, but as far as he was concerned, any potential candidates were going away for mid-term. It was supposed to be the last bit of good weather before winter, so everyone was taking advantage of the week off to go to their holiday houses at the beach, or fishing by the lake on the other side of the East Bight. Even Nimrodel was leaving, taking her friends to her relative’s farm.

    But Bard figured he’d have to think about it later. Remembering he was supposed to go Thranduil’s house to pick up notes for class, he shovelled down the rest of his food and got dressed out of his pyjamas. He grabbed his skateboard from the hallway and told his mum he’d be back soon.

    It was surprisingly cold outside. Bard had spent most of the week in his room, or on the sofa watching movies. Autumn had finally settled into the streets, turning the leaves orange and brown and whisking them away in a chill wind.

    Thranduil’s house was not far to walk, and Bard needed to stretch his legs, so he rolled down the street with his hands in the pocket of his jumper. He wondered what Thranduil had planned for mid-term break…

    Not that it mattered – they weren’t exactly close enough for sleepovers. Bard would be the most inconvenient to Thranduil than to anyone else.

    He was nearly at the house when he saw a figure running towards him. He slowed down, recognising Thranduil in his school uniform. As he approached, Bard realised he was close to tears.

    “Hey, what’s wrong?” Bard said, flipping up his board.

    Thranduil ran a hand over his eyes. “You haven’t seen my brother, have you?”

    “No,” Bard replied, furrowing his brow. “What happened?”

    “Fuck,” Thranduil spat. “We had a fight and he ran out of the house.”

    “It’s okay, I’ll help you look for him.”

    Thranduil looked momentarily stunned, but then relief washed over his face and he nodded.

    “I think I know where he might have gone, but he doesn’t know the way exactly so he probably got lost,” he said.

    Bard turned around and followed Thranduil down the street. They crossed the main road at the traffic lights and headed towards town where the shops were.

    “Are you sure he would have gone this way?” Bard said. “He can’t have gotten far, after all.”

    “He’s been gone for fifteen minutes already. I had no idea. I just thought he’d stormed off to his room, but then I saw the front door open and his shoes were missing.” Thranduil wrung his hands, looking around nervously, as if he couldn't see everything enough.

    “What upset him enough to run away?” said Bard, scanning the gardens and side streets they passed.

    “Nothing.”

    This only made Bard raise an eyebrow. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

    Thranduil turned on him, his expression hard. “Look, I know you know my parents are dead. I know Glorfindel told you, and you can act like what you heard doesn’t bother you or whatever, but you’re not fooling me by feigning ignorance. I’ve had enough of that bullshit to last me a lifetime. Don’t ask me to talk about my shit because it’s none of your business.”

    Bard threw up his free hand in defence. He had never seen Thranduil fire up like that, and it was admittedly quite intimidating, but also extremely unnecessary.

    “Fuck, okay. I’m just trying to help, yeah?”

    Thranduil took a breath, rubbing his eyes again. “Sorry.”

    “Don’t worry about it,” said Bard. “I understand.”

    They walked on in silence, scouring the streets for any sign of Legolas. They soon passed the shops and town centre and were pushing onto the back streets where the south district began. Very soon, the cemetery was in their sights and Thranduil quickened his pace. Bard then understood why he had brought up his parents. Glorfindel had said they died at the start of the school year. On this day, perhaps?

    They hurried up the hill to the cemetery. It was fenced off and flanked a small church. Thranduil swung the gate open and stood on tip-toe to try and see over the tops of the taller gravestones. Bard followed him, weaving through the patches of dirt and grass, side-stepping plaques and statues engraved with names. Towards the back was a particularly large set of stones, cut from marble, which Thranduil was heading straight for. But when they reached them, Legolas was not there.

    “Fuck!”

    To Bard’s horror, Thranduil kicked one of the gravestones to vent some of his frustration.

    “Whoa, isn’t that your parent’s?” Bard exclaimed.

    “Yeah. It’s a shame they’re not alive so the kick can actually hurt them,” Thranduil snarled, glaring at the marble. Then, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Legolas!”

    Still aghast at this proclamation, Bard kept looking around for Thranduil’s brother. They split up and covered the entirety of the cemetery, but he was not there. Thranduil sat down on the fence, looking defeated. There was an orange leaf in his hair.

    “This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t yelled at him,” he mumbled. “He just wanted to visit their graves and I got angry. I didn’t want to go.”

    “But why wouldn’t you want to come?” said Bard, attempting to be delicate. “I mean, they’re your parents.”

    “Yeah, well, they didn’t act like it. I may as well lay flowers on a stranger’s grave for all the good it does me to come here.” Thranduil sighed, pulling the leaf out of his hair irritibly. “I keep forgetting how different it is for Legolas. I mean, they weren’t great parents to him either - Oropher and I practically raised him - but for some reason he always loved them. God, he’s such a brat.”

    Bard sat down on the fence next to Thranduil, unsure of what to say.

    “Is it wrong to say I’m glad they’re dead?” Thranduil whispered, staring down at his feet among the fallen leaves. “Does that make me a bad person?”

    “No,” said Bard at once. He couldn’t imagine Thranduil ever being a bad person. “I think it just makes you an honest one. We can’t choose who our parents are, and we can’t change how we feel about them when they don’t treat us the way we deserve.”

    Thranduil glanced at Bard, his blue eyes overbright and stark against the blurry autumn. He stood up again. “Let’s keep looking. He might be in town somewhere.”

    They left the cemetery, heading back to the shops. There were lots of people about now, dragging grumpy school-age children around, or else having coffee after a long week of work. Thranduil and Bard took notice of every child, especially those from Legolas' school, but he was not among the milling shoppers.

    But when they passed a familiar shop, its glass front bright and welcoming, Bard stopped, pulling Thranduil back.

    “Isn’t this your uncle’s shop? He might be here.”

    Thranduil’s eyes went wide and he nodded. They swung the shop door open and went inside. While Bard started browsing the isles of fruits and vegetables, Thranduil went to the counter to talk to the girl there. They seemed to know each other, for she smiled when she saw him. After exchanging a few words, she became solemn and then pointed to the far end of the shop. Thranduil hurried off that way, so Bard went too.

    They found Legolas among the confectionary, counting out the change in his pocket for some raspberry liquorice. Bard thought Thranduil might have exploded with anger right there, but when Legolas saw them, he gasped and ran over to hug his brother, and Thranduil melted at once.

    “You’re a little monster, you know that?” he said, crouching down and squeezing Legolas. “You cannot run away like that. I was so worried.”

    “If you didn’t say such mean things about mum and dad, I might not run away,” Legolas grumbled.

    “I know. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said it.”

    Legolas did not seem entirely mollified, but looked glad to be found. He went over to take a packet of liquorice from the shelf, handing it to Thranduil to buy it for him.

    “Do you have enough?” Thranduil asked.

    Legolas shook his head, holding out his other hand full of coins.

    “I haven’t got any money, kiddo, I’m sorry.”

    “Here, I have some,” said Bard. He rummaged through his pocket for his bus change and gave it to Legolas.

    “He really doesn’t deserve anything after all that,” Thranduil said coldly as Legolas scampered off to the counter.

    “Yeah, but I want some liquorice too,” said Bard, grinning. “And we found him; that’s what’s most important.”

    “True. Are you coming back with us?” Thranduil asked.

    “If it’s okay with you.”

    Bard faltered then, pondering if it would be worth it to ask Thranduil. To stay a week at someone’s house was probably too much, but at least a few nights would make Bard feel better. He just didn’t want to be at home with his dad around to breathe down his neck.

    “Listen, can I ask you a favour?” he said, once the transaction was paid for.

    Thranduil nodded, waving goodbye to the girl at the counter as they left the shop. They stepped out onto the street again, the cold wind catching their hair and clothes. Legolas walked on a little ahead, chewing happily on his sweets.

    “I kind of need a place to crash for a few days. I mean, I totally understand if you don’t want me at your place, or if you’re busy, or whatever. But you’re the first person I thought might not be going away for mid-term, and your house is the closest to mine, so if anything happened… y’know.”

    Bard said this very fast, and then trailed off lamely at the end. He already knew Thranduil would turn him down, and though it was only fair of him to do so, Bard couldn’t help but feel despondent. He strongly believed he would have the best time at Thranduil’s house, for he didn’t feel the need to accommodate other people, and by so doing made it easier for them to feel welcome and at ease.

    “How long is a few days?”

    Bard blinked several times, his heart soaring. “Um, well, sort of until the end of break, but if that’s too long then probably just Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.”

    Thranduil looked at Bard in that knowing way of his, eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, brow quirked and inquisitive. He had an uncanny ability to see right through people. Bard thought he could probably comprehend the very stars with those eyes.

    “Do you not like being at home?” he asked.

    “It’s more like… I don’t like my da being at home,” Bard confessed, his heart sinking again.

    “Doesn’t he work?”

    “He got laid off again because he’s a jackass.”

    “You don’t get along?” Thranduil prompted, turning to the lights where Legolas was waiting, pushing the button to cross the road more times than was necessary.

    “Not really,” said Bard. “We used to, but ever since…”

    He trailed off again, wishing he hadn’t spoken so much, wishing he hadn't asked. Thranduil didn’t need to know the depressing details.

    “Your mum is sick, right?”

    “How do you know?” Bard said, his ears growing hot.

    “Glorfindel mentioned that you look after her sometimes,” Thranduil said.

    “Glorfindel seems to mention a lot,” Bard said grumpily.

    Thranduil laughed. “He can’t keep a secret to save his life. Unless it’s important, of course, but otherwise everyone is fair game for gossip.”

    They crossed the road and started towards the street Thranduil’s house lived on. Legolas stuck close to them now, sharing his liquorice. For once, Bard did not feel entirely awful about sharing his secret, small though it was in comparison, and not really a secret at all. He had been right about Thranduil; he did understand, even if he didn’t completely show it.

    Oropher was relieved when they returned with Legolas in tow. As they entered through the front door, a streak of red flew passed Bard and barrelled into Legolas. Then, Thranduil's little sister, Tauriel, was pummelling him and crying. Oropher quickly prised her away.

    “Hi,” he said to Bard, setting Tauriel back on the ground where she proceeded to glare at Legolas. “Do I know you?”

    “This is Bard. He was here that day we took the sofas,” Thranduil explained. “Can he stay here for mid-term?”

    Both Oropher and Bard gaped at Thranduil. For all of mid-term? Bard could hardly believe it.

    “Ah, sure,” said Oropher. “But we just got rid of our spare mattresses.”

    “That’s okay,” Bard said quickly. “I’ll sleep on the sofa or something. Or on the floor. I don’t care.”

    “Do you need to get some stuff?” Thranduil asked as Oropher took Legolas and Tauriel to the kitchen for some proper food.

    Bard started, still amazed at his good fortune. “Yeah, I need clothes.”

    “Would you like some help?” Thranduil said.

    “Why are you being so nice to me?” Bard blurted.

    Thranduil looked affronted, taking a step back in surprise. “I – I’m sorry?”

    “Sorry! No, I’m sorry. Yes, I could use some help.”

    Bard hated himself for being this way. He was so used to doing things for himself. Being offered help was like being punched in the face. But Thranduil did not seem offended or upset by Bard's outburst and he went to the kitchen to tell Oropher where they were going.

    Bard left his skateboard by the door as they left, feeling suddenly exhausted. He was in complete awe of Thranduil, who was prepared to do such a massive favour for… quite literally no reason. Bard wasn't even sure Thranduil considered him a friend, yet he was willing to go so far out of his way to help out. Bard made a mental note to make it up to him. Big time.

    They caught the bus to Bard's house, taking seats up the back and not talking. Bard wanted to fill the silence with... _something_ , but Thranduil didn't appear to mind it. He didn't seem to think that it was awkward, even though Bard was beside himself with embarrassment. He had invited himself into Thranduil's home for a week, had accepted his help, and all he could think was how cowardly and inconvenient he was being. 

    Yet, when they arrived at his house, Bard still asked Thranduil to wait outside. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand it if Thranduil met his dad.

    “He can't be that awful," Thranduil said.

    Bard chewed his lip, digging out his keys for the front door. The truth was, he was ashamed of his dad. It didn’t matter that he treated Bard poorly – that was easily dealt with and ignored – it was that Bard didn’t want anyone else to see it. Especially not Thranduil.

    “I’ll – I’ll check where he is first.”

    Bard unlocked the door and slipped inside. The house was quiet, save for the distant chatter of the television at the far end of the hallway. He peered down to the sitting room and saw his dad on the sofa, his head dipped back, asleep.

    Bard returned to the front door and let Thranduil in. They crept upstairs. Thranduil was unusually silent, even on the creaky steps, as if he was little more than a ghost.

    They went to Bard’s room, which was still a shameful mess since he hadn’t found the effort to tidy it. He tossed clothes into a bag at random while Thranduil collected all his school books.

    They were nearly finished when a timid knock came at the open door. Bard’s mother stood there, her reading glasses on her head. She leaned against the door, her expression quite smug.

    “The way you’re behaving, I’d think you two were fleeing the country,” she said.

    Bard grinned sheepishly. “Thranduil said he’d take me in for the week.”

    Sian smiled at Thranduil, the corners of her eyes crinkled. “Are you sure it isn’t too much trouble?”

    “None at all,” said Thranduil politely. “Bard helped me find my brother, so it’s the least I can do.”

    Bard paused in the middle of grabbed his laptop, frowning. Did Thranduil really think that? Did he consider the score settled between them this way? Bard hadn’t even given a second thought to helping Thranduil, yet he was treating it as a much bigger deal than it was. Surely it didn't justify letting Bard in his house for mid-term. Surely there was something else behind his kindness.

    “I live close by,” Thranduil said. He was scribbling down a phone number on a piece of paper from Bard’s notebook. “My uncle owns the grocery store in town.”

    “Oh, the nice one that sells the liquorice? I adore that place,” Sian said, taking the paper with another smile. “Well, give your parents my thanks, won’t you?”

    She did not notice the half-second hesitation in Thranduil’s reply, but Bard caught it at once, feeling the blood drain from his whole body. But Thranduil composed himself quickly and nodded graciously, probably used to it by now. He zipped up Bard’s school bag and slung it over his shoulder with ease, though Bard was certain it weighed a ton with all those books.

    “Call me if you need anything,” Sian said, kissing Bard on the cheek.

    “You’ll be okay without me?” .

    “Of course. Just remember your manners and don’t be a freeloader.”

    She saw them off at the door, laden with bags and two pillows. Bard would worry about her at hospital by herself, but she would be okay, and all the happier knowing Bard and his dad weren't having a go at each other while she was gone. Bard wished he could blame his dad entirely on that front, but he knew he was part of the problem too. They were too much alike, as much as he didn't want to admit it.

    "Thank you for this," he said to Thranduil as they headed towards the bus stop.

    "It's okay," Thranduil said with a smile. "I've been in your position before."

    Bard finally understood, then, why he was being so generous. The day had been so chaotic that Thranduil's words at the cemetery had been lost for a moment, forgotten just as easily as homework or an overdue library book. But Bard remembered them now, colder than the approaching winter, fed by years of hatred. He and Thranduil were the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! let me know what you think!


	7. mr blue sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard go on a day trip and share some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW for cancer mention ******

* * *

 

**We have not been given all the words necessary. We have not been given anything at all.**

 

* * *

 

 

When Thranduil woke up in the morning, he was immediately aware of the other presence in his room, still and quiet on the floor beside his bed. He sunk lower among the sheets. His face was hot, but he didn’t know why. He could hear Bard’s steady breathing in the cold morning, the new sun coming in through the blinds like streaks of gold.

    Hating himself, but unable to resist, Thranduil inched towards the edge of his bed and peered down. Bard was there, lost among the blankets on the floor, save for a tuft of black hair matted against the pillow, and one foot stuck out at an awkward angle. He looked peaceful, but his brow was furrowed, as if he were having a bad dream.

    Thranduil shifted back onto his pillows and took his phone from its charger on the bedside table. He rarely had any notifications, but this morning he did have a text sent from Glorfindel at 1am that turned his whole body to jelly.

> **Bard just told me he’s staying at your house for mid-term?? Gaygaygaygaygaygay.**

    Thranduil deleted the message, too embarrassed to reply. His face felt hotter than ever. What was Glorfindel’s problem, saying something like that? Thranduil was just doing Bard a favour. There was nothing gay about it, no matter how many alarm bells it was setting off in his head.

    Feeling nettled, Thranduil got up and left Bard to sleep. Downstairs, Oropher was already finishing the last of his coffee.

    “I’m taking the kids to the city today,” he said, smacking his lips. “Wanna come?”

    “Where are you taking them?” Thranduil asked, piling his messy hair into a bun.

    “Bookstore, and a few other places. But you and Bard can go wherever you want and meet up with us later.”

    “Yeah, okay,” said Thranduil, turning back to the stairs. “I’ll see if he wants to go.”

    “Wait,” Oropher said suddenly. “Before he wakes up, you might want to read this. It came in the mail yesterday.”

    He handed over a very official-looking letter. Thranduil might have mistaken it for a bill if he didn’t recognising the leaf-shaped logo in the corner that made his insides recoil. He instinctively wanted to throw it away, but knew it was probably important. He slit it open with a butter knife and removed the contents.

    It was some kind of contract. Thranduil skimmed it quickly, recognising some names from the board of directors of his parents work. At the bottom was a dotted line for his signature to agree to take on ownership of their business when he turned eighteen.

    “Is this a joke?” he said. “They can’t seriously expect me to sign this?”

    Oropher looked a bit worried. “Thranduil, I would reconsider that attitude.”

    “I don’t want this. I don’t want anything to do with those assholes! I definitely don’t want to be in charge of them!”

    “You wouldn’t be in charge,” Oropher hastened to say. “You’ll just own the business. They’re legally obligated to offer you the position because you’re the heir to the company. They’re not expecting you to make an active contribution to anything.”

    Thranduil paused, reading over the letter once again. “So, what, I’d be a business partner?”

    “You’d be their boss of everyone else’s boss. You literally won’t have to do anything, though. You can still go to university. You can do whatever you want.”

    “But then what difference does it make if I sign this or not?”

    Oropher paled, scratching behind his ear. “Look, this is indelicate, but you have to consider how much money you’ll be getting. That’s basically your parent’s entire salary on top of the inheritance they left you in their will.”

    Thranduil dropped the paper, as if it had burned him. He kicked it.

    “I don’t want their filthy money.”

    Oropher took the paper from the floor and set it on the kitchen table. “I wouldn’t make your decision so quickly. That much money could really benefit you. If you don’t take it, the board might give it someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

    “And you’re saying I do deserve it?” said Thranduil dispassionately.  

    “Yes, you do,” said Oropher sternly. “And so does Legolas.”

    At the mention of his brother, Thranduil’s heart plummeted through the floor. How could he forget Legolas like that? Thranduil didn’t have to use the money. He could keep it for his brother, someone who really did deserve anything that was left of their parents.

    “Fine,” he said.

    He went to the kitchen table and took a pen from the cup by the calendar. With a deep breath, Thranduil scribbled his signature on the paper, and then walked away before he could overthink it. He already hated that he was getting his parents inheritance when he came of age, so to accept even more felt like being chained to his past. But if it meant Legolas could have whatever he wanted, then it was worth it.

    Back in his bedroom, Bard had woken up. He was sitting up on the floor in his pyjamas, texting on his phone. When he heard Thranduil enter, he looked up at once.

    “Do you want to go to the city?” Thranduil asked.

    “Now?” said Bard, his expression a little hard to read. He seemed almost angry at the suggestion.

    “When we’ve had breakfast. My brother and sister want to go to the bookstore.”

    Bard perked up at this. “I remember the bookstore! I love it there. Yeah, let’s go.”

    He scrambled to his feet and started digging around his bag for clothes. He balled them up in his arms and then went to the bathroom across the hall. Thranduil took this opportunity to get dressed as well. He brushed his hair and tied it back, and then pulled a jumper over his head.

    He returned to the kitchen and started making enough coffee for two people, though he wasn’t sure if Bard drank it. Legolas and Tauriel were up, already watching their usual Saturday morning cartoons. Thranduil took their orders for breakfast and then went about making toast. He was just starting on a second batch when Bard came bounding down the stairs. He was dressed now, all in black, with a blue denim jacket in his hand. His hair was still wet from the shower, but beginning to dry now and curling at the ends behind his ears. He dropped himself into a seat at the bench and took the mug of coffee set out for him without pause.

    Thranduil wondered if Bard was always chipper in the mornings, or if it was just because he wasn’t at home for once. He helped himself to some toast while Tauriel and Legolas came over for juice. They both stared at him, wide eyed and gawking. Thranduil put juice in their hands and told them to sit down.

    “Hey,” said Tauriel, tugging on Bard’s sleeve. “Hey, are you in a gang?”

    Bard sipped his coffee very seriously before replying. “What kind of gang do you think I’m in?”

    Tauriel shrugged haughtily, flicking back her long red hair and taking some toast. “I just know gang members wear all black like that.”

    Beside her, Legolas nodded earnestly. “Like on TV. With the boots and the motorcycles and everything!”

    “I have a skateboard,” Bard said. “Does that count?”

    “I guess so,” said Legolas, exchanging a significant look with his sister. “But Tauriel reckons you’re too good-looking to do anything bad like be in a gang.”

    “I did not!” Tauriel shrilled. “I did not say that!”

    Legolas grinned evilly at her, fending off her punches easily. Thranduil laughed. He couldn’t help but agree with Tauriel. Despite his tough attitude, Bard was much too pretty to be the gang-joining sort.

    After breakfast, they all put on their shoes and coats and headed out to the car. Thranduil’s uncle drove a very old, very tired Toyota that wheezed dangerously if it went faster than fifty miles per hour. They piled in with Bard in the passenger seat. When Thranduil got in behind him, he noticed that there was already plenty of room for his long legs.

    The drive to the city was more than an hour, over the freeway and across the river. Thranduil rarely went so far out of town, except to attend lectures at the university or go on school field trips. He liked the country and its quiet, rolling hills and overgrown forests. Even though the memory of his parents loomed in the north where all the rich kids lived, he was happy where he was.

    Oropher parked outside a restaurant and paid for a ticket.

    “Okay, we’re going to the toy store, and then Tauriel wants a new coat for winter so I’m going to… attempt that. I’ll text you when we’re done and we’ll meet at the book store?”

    “Sure,” said Thranduil.

    They went their separate ways. Thranduil and Bard wandered the streets without intention, admiring shop windows and talking about school. Thranduil had brought his camera, determined not to miss an opportunity to take pictures of the city, for it was so tangible and different compared to the still and unchanging suburbs. After a while, they fell into an easy silence, listening to each other’s footsteps on the pavement. It was unusually cold, even for October, and the wind was biting and cruel. Bard stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

    “I was wondering,” he said. “Your sister…?”

    Thranduil caught on at once. “Cousin. Tauriel is my cousin.”

    Bard champed his teeth pensively. “Then how come you call her your sister?”

    “When my brother and I came to live with our uncle, Tauriel was only four. She didn’t really understand what was going on, and after everything that had happened, I think Oropher wanted us to be as normal a family as possible. She seemed to like the idea of having two brothers all of a sudden, and it just stuck. Besides, I see her as more of a sister now. It wouldn’t be fair to put a barrier between us.”

    “But doesn’t she get confused when you don’t call Oropher dad?”

    Thranduil shook his head. “She doesn’t call him that either. He’s just Oropher. She might call him ada if she wants something, but she doesn’t really know why it works so well on him.”

    “But she’s his kid?” Bard added.

    “We’re not too sure,” Thranduil admitted. “Her mother had quite a few applicants for the father. I don’t know if she ever ran tests, but she died when Tauriel was three and there was no one else to take care of her.”

    “What, he just took in some baby without knowing if it was his or not?” said Bard in amazement.

    Thranduil laughed. “Not exactly. He visited Tauriel pretty often before he adopted her. There’s a good chance that she’s his, but it doesn’t matter if she isn’t. It's enough that he loves her, however poor his fatherhood skills are.”

    “Yeah, I did notice that your uncle is a bit… unconventional.”

    “He’s still pretty young – only thirty-one – and he has no idea how to take care of a kid, much less a little girl. But he’s determined, and he has me now. We make it work somehow.”

    Thranduil felt strange – he felt _good_. It was refreshing to be able to talk to someone without having to confess anything. He wasn’t sharing a secret; he was just telling a story. And Bard seemed genuinely interested, rather than critical or confused like most people were.

    “So what’s the deal with your family?” Thranduil prompted, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Why don’t you and your dad get along?”

    Bard sighed. He looked reluctant, but also more vulnerable than usual, as if Thranduil’s story had softened him. Kicking a stone through the street, he said, “He’s just a jerk.”

    “But you were home-schooled, right? Glorfindel said your dad is a university teacher.”

    “ _Was_ a university teacher,” said Bard bitterly. “He had to get another job to pay for my ma’s medical bills.”

    “What’s wrong with her?”

    “She has breast cancer. I mean, she’s in remission now – she’s doing really well – but it was pretty bad for a while and things were just… shitty.”

    “How?”

    Thranduil knew Bard was suspicious of him, but he had a feeling there was more to it than a simple misunderstanding at home. Bard was still keeping his secrets, and they had nothing to do with his family.

    “My da got a job at a factory a few years back. He hated it, but he did it because the pay was better than teaching. He loves my ma – he’s not a totally bad guy – but working somewhere he hated really got him down. He started gambling, probably hoping to win big so he could keep teaching. But it just made things worse. They were fighting all the time and ma’s cancer was pretty aggressive so she was spending a lot of time in hospital. It was around then that I got expelled and, rather than pay for more school, da decided to home-school me. I think he was just desperate to teach again, and it was alright for a while. I actually enjoyed the stuff he taught me. But the gambling got worse and we started falling into debt. I had to come back to school so da could go back to full-time work. Anyway, it’s just really stupid and he makes things harder for everyone.”

    Bard kicked another stone, keeping his head bowed. Thranduil hummed thoughtfully.

    “That is shitty,” he said. “But. I’m glad your mum is doing better.”

    Bard looked up, and his expression was sympathetic now – almost apologetic. Thranduil didn’t want pity – he didn’t care that he was parentless – but it was somehow different because it was Bard. Here was a boy who had nearly lost a parent he actually cared for, and Thranduil almost envied the sadness that came with that.

    “I’m glad too,” Bard said. “It was scary for a while. Right now, I think she’s in shock at surviving. The doctors said that depression and anxiety are common symptoms once the cancer has been beaten. That’s why I look after her sometimes when da works - it’s a mental thing - but since he’ll be home for mid-term, there’s no point in me being around. Ma's in hospital right now anyway. And she gets it – she wishes it wasn’t like this, but she understands.”

    “Are you going to leave when you graduate?” Thranduil asked.

    “I want to, but I won’t be able to afford it. I need a job,” Bard said.

    “I could get you a job,” Thranduil said. “You can work at my uncle’s store.”

    Bard looked sceptical. “Seriously? Do you work there?”

    “No. I – I want to focus on studying.”

    “What are you studying so hard for? Do you want to go to university?”

    Thranduil nodded. “I want to study botany and literature. You need a good score for that.”

    “No kidding.”

    “What do you want to do?”

    Bard shrugged. “I have no idea. I thought about –”

    He broke off suddenly, staring dead ahead. Thranduil followed his gaze to a group of teenagers walking down the street towards them. There was nothing particularly menacing about them, but Bard looked horrified. Without warning, he shoved Thranduil into the nearest shop, which was a café. He dragged Thranduil through the people lining up to take orders, ducking into a booth.

    “Sorry,” he muttered.

    “Who were they?” Thranduil said, taking the hair out of his mouth. 

    “Um, old friends from school,” Bard said.

    “You didn’t want to say hello?”

    Bard scoffed. “No way. They’re assholes.”

    “Excuse me?” Bard and Thranduil looked up to see a waitress standing at their table, her expression sour. “If you’re going to sit there, you have to order something.”

    “Sorry,” Thranduil said quickly. He glanced behind him at the menu on a chalkboard. “I’ll just have a cappuccino.”

    “Same,” said Bard.

    He started digging around for some change, but he did not produce enough for a coffee. As the waitress walked away to get their order, he stared glumly at the pile of coins on the table.

    “It’s okay,” said Thranduil. “I’ll get it.”

    “But I dragged you in here.”

    “I was getting tired of walking anyway.”

    This was not strictly speaking true, but Thranduil didn’t want Bard to feel bad. He knew what it was like to want to avoid people, especially old friends or peers. It probably wasn’t easy for Bard to come back to the city where he used to live and go to school. It was all well and good for Thranduil to linger in the shadow of his past, but he was used to it now. For Bard to come back to what he thought he had left behind was completely different. And Thranduil could tell he had run away from something; something he was determined to keep secret.

    “Can I ask you something else?” Bard said. He looked sheepish.

    “Is this twenty questions now?” Thranduil said, smirking.

    Bard made a face. “I just thought… I mean… your parents, they were pretty famous, weren’t they?”

    “I suppose,” Thranduil said, his heart constricting. “They were well-known in their field, at least.”

    “Does that mean you were one of the kids from the high-society families? Like Elrond and stuff?”

    Thranduil couldn’t help it; he laughed. “You could say that, yeah.”

    “What?” demanded Bard. “What’s so funny?”

    Thranduil laughed again. “I don’t know. You’re so cautious about it. Wealth isn’t exactly something that’s kept quiet at our school. I certainly didn’t keep quiet about mine when I had it, and... I had a lot.”

    “Yeah, I did notice that. It’s really intimidating.”

    “I never thought so, not when I was the intimidating one,” Thranduil said. “But when my parents died, I wasn’t left with much, and my uncle isn’t that well off. It was… enlightening. To see my old life from a different perspective.”

    “Do you miss it?” Bard said, counting his money again.

    Thranduil watched for a moment. He was like that sometimes as well, when the store did poorly for the month and there was only just enough money to pay the bills. He had gotten used to it quickly – digging up loose change for the bus, or taking shorter showers – but he did sometimes long for the days where he spent money without care. He could use a new laptop, for example, or perhaps a Netflix subscription, and once upon a time he would never have considered needing to sacrifice anything for the sake of school books or new shoes. But with a pang, Thranduil realised those things would be a possibility when he turned eighteen. All too suddenly, he didn’t want them anymore.

    “No,” he said at last. “I like my life now. I-I don’t want my old one back.”

    He realised how that must sound to someone like Bard, who had lost so much, and never had a great deal to begin with. But it was therapeutic for Thranduil to let go of his past, and to let go of the things that tied him to his parents, even if he was bringing a substantial part of them back. That’s why it had been so hard for him to accept the offer from the board of directors, even if it meant a better future and better prospects.

    Their coffees arrived and Bard and Thranduil fell into a gentle silence, drinking and watching the other people in the café. Bard eventually took out his phone and started texting someone. Thranduil took a photo of his mug for Instagram. Then he got a text from his uncle.

    “They’ll be at the bookstore soon,” he told Bard, tapping a quick reply.

    Bard looked nervous. Thranduil knew he didn’t want to return to the street in case his old friends showed up again, but the bookstore wasn’t much further back, so they finished their drinks, paid, and left.

    It had gotten somehow colder since they entered the café. Thranduil zipped up his parka, burying his face into the collar. Without it being a conscious decision on his part, he inched a little closer to Bard as they walked.

    At the book store, Oropher had already arrived and was sitting on a very small chair for children while Tauriel and Legolas explored the kids section of books. He waved to Bard and Thranduil as they found the classic literature section.

    They nosed around for nearly an hour, comparing books they had already read, though Bard mostly complained about how hard the font in most classics was on his dyslexia.

    Neither of them could afford to buy anything. Bard had held onto some money with just such an intention, but was heartbroken to find that the books he was interested in buying were well out of his price range, while Thranduil overshot his own money by choosing the most expensive book in the store. They perused the shelves miserably, wanting to buy something, but seriously lacking the funds.

    “Hey, why don’t we split the cost?” Thranduil suggested.

    Bard blinked. “What do you mean?”

    “We’ll pick a book we both want, and then pay half each and share it.” 

    “Okay! But which one?”

    Thranduil slid a thin book from the shelf – _The Symposium_ , by Plato.

    “This font is my own personal hell, but I have wanted to read this for a while,” Bard said.

    They took it to the counter and split the cost, counting out their change and not feeling embarrassed. Oropher bought books for Tauriel and Legolas as well, and then they all left the city, squeezing back into the car and driving home. In the passenger seat, Bard took charge of the radio. He tuned it to a station that seemed to draw music selections from his own box of vinyls. Oropher approved.

    “This takes me back,” he said, tapping his hands on the steering wheel along to _Don’t Stop Me Now._

    Thranduil leaned forward in his seat. “Were you even alive when this song came out?”

    “Nah, but your grandparents were way too into reliving their youth, especially after I was born. Anything released after Wham!’s last album didn’t exist to them. Except for Aqua, but that was a special circumstance.”

    “But you never play this kind of music at home,” Thranduil testified. “Not that I’m complaining.”

    “Yeah, because I grew up and discovered Vampire Weekend.”

    Bard snorted.

    “What’s funny about Vampire Weekend?” Oropher threatened.

    “Nothing, if you think genre-confused wailing counts as music.”

    Thranduil stifled a laugh. “Be careful, Bard, or you’ll be walking home.”

    As it was, they were nearly there. The East Bight came into view, a sea of green and gold and orange trees, falling over the hills and roads. The sun was starting to emerge from behind the clouds, and Bard turned the radio up to hear _Mr Blue Sky_ a little louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, I think it's my favourite so far, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it too!


	8. walking, running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard hates font and it rains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering how I choose the books Bard and Thranduil are reading in this fic, they're all from my own shelves at home.  
> Anyway this chapter is... I dunno. Kind of unnecessary, but I sort of liked writing it and I thought their interactions are kind of important. I hope you enjoy it! Fun fact: this fic is actually set in real-time. I thought about using the 2015 calendar, but the way this year is set up appealed to me more, so everything in this chapter and the previous one happened last week!

* * *

 

**You had not expected this, the bedroom gone white, the astronomical light pummelling you in a stream of fists.**

 

* * *

 

Bard’s first mid-term break in two-and-a-half years was the best of his life. Afterwards, when he returned to school and talked about it, he would play it cool and say he and Thranduil mostly studied, because that was the truth. But the truth behind that truth was the sunlight across their books in the afternoon, and warm drinks by the television while Tauriel or Legolas chose that night’s film, and how inconceivably soft Thranduil’s sheets were, and how at home they made Bard feel on the floor.

    What he found the most unusual was how easily he assimilated into Thranduil’s life. Unconventional family though he had, Bard found them almost unbearably cheerful to around, even if Oropher was still quite perplexed at Bard’s presence.

    “I don’t think Thranduil’s had anyone stay over for even one night since he moved here,” he confessed to Bard on Monday morning while everyone else still slept. “I mean, I don’t blame him, but it’s a shame he doesn’t try and make more friends. I feel bad for him, you know?”

    “Well, our school doesn’t really offer him the opportunity to make friends,” Bard reasoned.

    “It offered him you.”

    Bard bit the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling too much. “He has Glorfindel, too. That guy will never let him down.”

    “Glorfindel is connected to our family, though, and I know Thranduil resents that. He tried very hard to let everything go after the fire – even Glorfindel – but the past keeps finding its way back to him. And there are some things he cannot relinquish.”

    “What do you mean?” said Bard, frowning.

    Oropher disappeared behind his coffee mug. “Never mind. Forget I said that. What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t take it personally if Thranduil one day stops talking to you.”

    “Is that likely to happen?”

    “Probably more likely than you think.” Oropher sighed. “But you shouldn’t give up on him. I know that’s asking a lot, but he needs someone. Glorfindel knows that, and I think you do too.”

    He put his empty mug in the sink and grabbed his car keys to go to work. Bard stayed in the kitchen, pondering what Oropher had said. He didn’t think he would ever be offended if Thranduil didn’t want to be friends anymore – if that’s what they were now. Bard wouldn’t even be surprised, for he couldn’t imagine anyone willing to be _his_ friend in the first place, whether they knew about the things he had done or not.

    But, for the time being, Bard was content. The autumn rain had come, and it pitter-pattered against the windows while he and Thranduil spread out their books in the sitting room, or else flicked through the DVD shelf for something to watch, or when they were in separate rooms, forgetting themselves for a while.

    Bard was tackling _The Symposium_. Thranduil was determined to perfect his Ancient History essay, so he told Bard to read it first. But it was impossible. No human being on earth could decipher the font.

    “I can’t,” he finally said, smacking the book down on the floor in frustration.

    Thranduil looked up from his laptop at the kitchen table, chewing a pencil absently.

    “Please don’t throw the book we paid for,” he mumbled.

    Bard snatched it up again, seething. “I can’t get passed the first three pages. I have no idea what’s going on.”

    Thranduil got up from his seat and came to join Bard on the sofa. Their shins touched, knees bumping. Bard caught the way Thranduil instinctively drew back, as if afraid he might get hurt… or do the hurting.

    He took the book and opened it, skimming the introduction, and the character names at the beginning. His fingers traced the words, the pencil in his mouth twirling this way and that as he read. Bard watched it distractedly for a moment, until Thranduil spoke again.

    “So, this guy, Apollodorus –”

    “Oh, _that’s_ how you say it,” said Bard.

    Thranduil smiled, taking the pencil out of his mouth. “Yes. Apollodorus is telling his friend a story that was told to him by Aristodemus, who attended the party where everyone had their say on the subject of love.”

    “That’s so extra. You picked a really hard book for me to read,” Bard pouted.

    “I didn’t realise, I’m sorry,” Thranduil said, turning another page. “It’s quite interesting, though. Funny.”

    “Read it to me.”

    He couldn’t take it back once he had said it, though he desperately wanted to. Thranduil looked surprised, his cheeks pink.

    “I – I could read it first and annotate it –”

    “Go on,” Bard encouraged, attempting to quell the embarrassment in his stomach. “You’re good at reading aloud. I like when you do it in class.”

    Thranduil face coloured a little more, but he seemed mollified by this for some reason. “Fine.”

    He riffled through to the beginning and Bard lay back on the sofa to listen, mindful not to take up too much room on the sofa and touch Thranduil in the process. Thranduil had a nice voice – it was deep and steady – and when he read, he seemed to come alive through the characters, and make the characters come alive. Bard thought it was like a silver lining he never knew he wanted.

    He paused Thranduil often to ask questions, and Thranduil would reply with all the patience in the world, explaining something if Bard didn’t understand, or if they both didn’t understand, they would work it out together.

    Later, much later, after the school year was over, Bard would remember that moment as the first time he loved Thranduil. He didn’t yet know why his heart jumped to his throat every time Thranduil paused to turn the page, glancing up to see if Bard was still paying attention, or why it struck Bard just how beautiful Thranduil was in the dim light, overcast by rain and dark clouds, his hair tucked behind one ear and shimmering faintly. It was always one of Bard’s favourite memories.

 

    The weather forecast had lied. It rained for most of the week and kept Bard and Thranduil indoors. Bard didn’t think he would ever become quite so tired of studying, but it happened, and he found himself on the floor of Thranduil’s bedroom on Thursday with no homework and no prospects to alleviate his boredom. He listened to the rain outside match the tapping sounds of Thranduil’s keyboard.

    “What are you writing?” he asked.

    “My thesis,” Thranduil said.

    “Oh, yeah. What did you end up writing about?”

    “How colonisation and industrialisation damages the environment,” Thranduil replied.

    “… not surprising,” Bard muttered.

    Thranduil didn’t reply to this, whether he had heard it or not, so Bard sat up and surveyed the room, looking for something to occupy himself with. Thranduil had a nice bedroom. It was small, but large enough for a single bed to fit comfortably with a desk, wardrobe, chest of drawers, and two book shelves stuffed with books. There were also plants everywhere; hanging from the ceiling, or dropping from the ledge of the window, or perched neatly on the desk. Each one was meticulously labelled, and Thranduil kept a cardboard box of various pesticides and sprays with a notebook and pen under his desk.

    What caught Bard’s attention in the end was Thranduil’s camera. It was sitting on his bedside table, the lanyard dangling off the edge. It was fairly old, and Bard figured it was analogue, seeing as it had a lever to wind the film and no screen. Very quietly, he took the camera from the table and wound the film. He had never used an analogue camera before, but he fiddled with the lens and the dial on the top at random, peering through the eyelet as he did so. At the perfect moment, Thranduil turned in his chair to see what Bard was doing. Bard pressed the shutter, a light flashed blindingly, and Thranduil flinched.

    “Sorry,” said Bard, grinning.

    “Please don’t waste my film,” Thranduil said.

    “I don’t think it was a waste,” Bard mumbled, returning the camera to its place on the side table.

    “I think that was my last shot.”

    “I’ll sign it when you get it developed.”

    “You’re too kind.”

    “How many words have you written?”

    “Five-thousand.”

    Bard spluttered. “Is that what you stay up so late working on?”

    Thranduil nodded. He faced his laptop again and saved his work before shutting down. “Come on. It’s stopped raining.”

    Bard glanced outside to convince himself that this was true. It was, so he got to his feet at once. “Where are we going?”

    “For a walk.”

    Bard was so eager to leave the house that he didn’t even question this. He put on sweat pants, trainers and a hoodie without complaint and met Thranduil downstairs. He was dressed similarly, with his long hair tied in a knot at the base of his neck. If Bard didn’t know Thranduil, he easily would have mistaken him for some kind of track star. He handed Bard a bottle of water.

    “You know, it’s a shame you won’t join the football team,” Bard said as Thranduil opened the front door. “We could use legs like those.”

    Thranduil smiled weakly. “Is football all you can think about?”

    “No,” said Bard defensively. “But you’d be a little more sympathetic if you –”

    “Joined the team. Sure. I’ve gotten this speech from Glorfindel a hundred times already.”

    It was mid-afternoon already, and the air after the rain was refreshing and crisp, but not too cold. Bard zipped up his jumper snugly.

    “Were you on the team at your old school?” Thranduil asked.

    “Nah, I was too young. I played for an under-sixteen’s team in the city until I moved here. We lost, like, every game.”

    “You’re pretty good considering you haven’t played for a while,” Thranduil said.

    Bard blushed, but attempted to stay cool. “So, you’ve been watching me, huh?”

    “N-no,” Thranduil stammered, sloshing clumsily through a puddle. “It was just an observation.”

    Bard realised he had made the conversation awkward, so he attempted to pull it back together again. “I kept myself in practice when I was at home. And besides, playing football is kind of like riding a bike.”

    “I thought about joining the team for a while,” Thranduil admitted. “But after my parents died… well… I know they don’t want me playing anymore, despite what Glorfindel says.”

    Bard knew Thranduil wouldn’t appreciate being heckled for more information, so he didn’t ask, but it he did wonder why the rest of the school disliked Thranduil so much. Glorfindel had explained that they though he was responsible for the fire that killed his parents, but whether he was or wasn’t, Bard didn’t see that as a reason to ostracize him so aggressively. People made mistakes. There was always more to a story than was told. Surely the other students couldn't justify their actions this way.

    They walked on, and Bard was surprised to see Thranduil heading towards the bus stop. He checked the time on his phone, and then glanced down the street.

    “I thought we were going for a walk,” Bard said.

    “We are.”

    Bard waited for more explanation than this, but it seemed he wasn’t going to get any. When the bus arrived, they boarded it, scanning on their tickets. Bard dropped into the seat next to Thranduil and their legs brushed. Bard shifted away a little.

    “I wish I had my license,” he grumbled. “I’m so tired of catching the bus.”

    “You should go for it,” Thranduil said.

    “I haven’t had any lessons. Ma doesn’t drive, so there’s only da to teach me, and that’ll only happen when I’m ready to die.”

    “You could get your motorcycle license,” Thranduil suggested.

    Bard snorted. “Yeah, right. I’d love to, but I can’t afford a bike.”

    “I guess that’s something to save up for, then?”

    “Will you go for you license soon?” Bard asked.

    “Oh.” Thranduil paused, scratching his nose uncomfortably. “I already have mine.”

    Bard sat up straight. “What?”

    “I got it when I turned seventeen. But I don’t have a car yet.”

    “You can’t drive your uncle’s car?”

    Thranduil shrugged. “I learned in it, but it’s really scary to drive because it’s so old. It makes me uncomfortable. I’ll just wait until I’m eighteen.”

    “Why eighteen?”

    Thranduil grimaced, and Bard took this as a sign that he didn’t want to answer the question for some reason. His behaviour was curious. Every time Bard thought he was starting to get to know him, Thranduil would cut the conversation short by refusing to give any more details. He seemed to regret a lot of the things he said, and Bard could sympathise, but that didn’t make it less frustrating.

    The bus didn’t take them far. Ten minutes later, Thranduil pressed the button and they got off at the East Bight. Bard could see the green and orange forest glittering in the aftermath of the rain. Down the street that turned off the main road and flanked the trees was the little abandoned house with its overgrown lawn and graffiti-ed windows.

    But Thranduil did not head towards the house. Instead, he continued on down the main road, and then disappeared into the trees. Bard ran after him.

    There was a narrow path, picking its way through the forest. A sign had been hammered into the ground, warning people against entering.

    “What are you doing?” Bard demanded, ducking under a low branch.

    “Walking. Come on, the path gets wider further in,” Thranduil said.

    Feeling doubtful, Bard traipsed after him, taking care not to trip on any protruding roots or rocks. He had never been into the forest before, having been strictly forbidden to by his parents. But Bard had never heard of bad things happening here, and despite the sign’s warning, it didn’t seem all that hazardous.

    Thranduil, for one, seemed to know the terrain well. He leapt easily over fallen trees and logs, climbing the uphill slope with ease. Bard scrambled after him, falling over several times and dirtying his hands and knees in the mud. He swore every time he did, and eventually Thranduil fell back and helped him to his feet. He didn’t mind the dirt on Bard’s hands. His fingers lingered on his palms.

    “You’re crazy,” Bard said, wiping the dirt off on his pants again, trying to pretend that the hammering of his heart was from the exertion, and not something else.

    “It’s really nice further in,” Thranduil insisted. His eyes were alight like stars. “Just follow my footprints.”

    Bard did so, and he found it safer to walk at once. Within seconds they had reached the top of the hill, where a narrow path met them and snaked through the trees, vanishing among them.

    “Way back when, the trees didn’t always grow as far as the road and this path was more easily accessible,” Thranduil explained. “But they were planted on the slope to deter people from using it, and eventually everyone who knew about it died, or forgot about it.”

    “Then how come you know about it?” Bard asked.

    “I used to explore these woods all the time,” Thranduil said. “My old house is on the other side.”

    They started on the path, which was just wide enough for two people to walk abreast. It was overgrown frim years of neglect, but it was still there.

    “Why don’t you still live there?” said Bard.

    “I’m not allowed to,” said Thranduil.

    “But if it’s your old house –”

    Thranduil shook his head. “My parents made… difficult requests in their will concerning the inheritance I would get in the event of their death. I’m not allowed to own or claim anything of theirs until I turn eighteen.”

    Bard understood now. “Right, that’s why you’re waiting to get a car.”

    “Yeah. But I kind of don’t want the money. Or the house. Or any of it.” Thranduil stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want anything to do with them anymore.”

    Bard no longer understood “But your parents were rich, weren’t they? Imagine all you could do with that money!”

    “There’s nothing I want that I couldn’t save up for myself. Money like that comes with strings.”

    “What kind of strings?”

    “Well, for starters, a lot of it comes from their research. I’m going to own a multi-million dollar industry before I even graduate high school.” Thranduil sighed. “I was thinking about donating everything I don’t use. I’ll buy myself a car and pay for university, and then give the rest to charity. I’ll still be earning whatever profit the company makes.”

    “I get why that sucks, but you should really look at it from a different perspective,” Bard said warily. “I mean, you can have whatever you want.”

    “But I don’t want anything. I’m happy with what I have now.”

    “You really are crazy,” Bard said finally.

    Thranduil smiled weakly. “I know it sounds bad, but if you saw things the way I do… I mean, look at the kids at our school. A lot of them come from really rich families and they have everything they want. But that privilege blinds them. They don’t know how damaging it can be to others, and to themselves.”

    “I guess that makes sense,” Bard admitted. “But at least they don’t have to worry about the future.”

    “Yeah, I guess so.”

    Thranduil stopped walking. He stared up at the canopy of trees. It was dark in this part of the forest, for the foliage was so dense it blocked out most of the sun, though the clouds did that as well.

    Then, he started to run. Bard was so startled that he didn’t realise what had happened, but when he did, he put on a burst of speed. But Thranduil was fast – ridiculously fast – and he outstripped Bard in seconds with no intention of slowing down. Bard tried to catch up, but couldn’t.

    It started to rain again, very gently. It came through the trees and sprinkled Bard’s hair, and when he finally caught up with Thranduil, he was out of breath and wet. Thranduil had his arms up. Bard could see the skin above his waistband again, and if he wasn’t already flushed from adrenaline, he would have blushed. They grinned at each other.

    “Like I said,” Bard panted, “your legs are wasted.”

    Thranduil laughed, ducking under a tree to get out of the rain. “I think I was too optimistic about the weather.”

    “Well, we’re going to get soaked no matter what, so we might as well head back,” said Bard.

    Thranduil nodded and together they hurried back down the path, splashing through the puddles between the trees. The rain came down heavier than it had the whole week. Out of breath and drenched, they caught the bus back to Thranduil’s house and then ran down the street. Through the downpour, Thranduil grinned at Bard. His hair was plastered to his face and his nose was pink from the cold, and Bard was overcome with the urge to kiss him. He thought he might have been seconds away from grabbing Thranduil and closing that gap between them – a gap Bard was only now aware of – but Thranduil kept running, and Bard raced him back to the house.

 

    They took turns in the shower, washing off the dirt and grime and rainwater. Bard fell back onto Thranduil’s bed, closing his eyes. His heart was still beating very fast, and each time he took a deep breath, the smell of Thranduil’s room made it skip a beat.

    Bard rubbed his face, which was hot and almost feverish. How could all his nerves and feelings be compacted this way? How could it come down to just the rain and the smell of books?

    Thranduil entered the room, still towelling off his hair. Bard could see his ankles underneath his too-short sweat pants and could smell the shampoo they had both used. He sat up, staring. Thranduil took no notice. He approached the bedside table and removed the film from his camera. He found an old canister and put the film inside before setting it down to remind himself to get it developed.

    The next morning, the rain stopped, and Bard forgot about the strangeness of his heart, or if he remembered it, he ignored it. But the sound of the film canister hitting the table stayed with him forever.


	9. halloween heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard leaves something behind and Thranduil gets roped into trick-or-treating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much longer than all the others, and it features another book from my shelf (one that I've actually read). And I had to include another Australian thing (it might not be just Australian, I wouldn't actually know). One of my favourite things from high school was the boys in my class going "Miiiiiiss" whenever they got into trouble, so I had to include it in this fic because it's so classic.  
> Also, special thanks to my pal Darcy @merlywhirls for coming up with the suggestion for Bard's costume. I thought I was gonna die of old age before I thought of a good one.

* * *

 

  **Do you want it? Do you want anything I have?**

**Will you throw me to the ground like you mean it, reach inside and wrestle it out with your bare hands?**

 

* * *

 

 

The sun returned for the weekend, making it feel almost like summer again. The grass in the yard dried, and washing hung on the line, and when Thranduil came home from dropping off his film for development, he looked out of the kitchen window to see Bard asleep in the shade of the lemon tree.    

    “He’s been like that for ages,” said Legolas from behind an enormous bowl of crisps. “Do you think he’s dead?”

    Next to him, Tauriel gasped and put a crisp in her mouth at the same time. Thranduil smiled at them.

    “Why don’t you go jump on him and find out?” he said.

    Legolas’ eyes went wide with excitement - the very idea of having _permission_ to do something cheeky utterly unbeknownst to him until now. He put the bowl back on the counter, snapped his feet together, and gave his big brother a perfect salute. Then, he and Tauriel scampered outside, crying out and charging towards Bard, who promptly disappeared beneath them with a yell and a grunt. Thranduil watched from the open door, laughing as Bard attempted to tackle the other two, grass and leaves in his hair and clothes.

    “Is that a legitimate smile?”

    Thranduil started and turned around. Oropher was standing at the kitchen counter, setting down brown paper bags full of groceries. Thranduil’s expression dropped at once, but not so much as to prevent the corner of his mouth quirking. He could feel his face glowing, but whether it was from laughter or embarrassment, he couldn't tell.

    “Sorry,” said Oropher with a smile. “It’s just… nice to see you have a friend.”

    Thranduil approached the counter to help unpack the groceries. “Bard’s not my friend.”

    “Oh, no? Then what is he?”

    Thranduil shrugged.

    Oropher tried a different tactic. “I was actually wondering why he stayed with us for mid-term. You didn’t say why.”

    Thranduil glanced out the window briefly. Bard was showing Tauriel how to properly punch someone, raising up his hand for her to hit while Legolas lay on the ground, evidently defeated.

    “He and his dad don’t get along,” Thranduil said finally, putting away some tinned vegetables.

    “Right,” said Oropher, nodding. “That sounds familiar.”

    “I guess I sympathise with him more than I was expecting to.”

    Thranduil paused, studying his uncle for a moment, wondering if it would be worth it to put forth the question he had been dwelling on for the past week. Would Oropher even have an answer for it? Perhaps it depended on how it was asked.

    “What sort of vibe to get from Bard?”

    Oropher looked confused at first. “Vibe?”

    “You’re an adult. You see things differently.”

    “Shit, yeah, I am an adult.” Oropher sounded surprised by this. “I don’t know. To me, all teenagers are moody and awful.”

    “I feel like he’s hiding something,” Thranduil confessed. “Something really bad. He won't tell me. He won't tell anyone.”

    “From what I've figured, everyone in the world is hiding something, and usually for a good reason. Let him keep it to himself.”

    Oropher put away the rest of the groceries. Outside, Bard was still with Legolas and Tauriel. They seemed to like him, but Thranduil realised it was probably because someone like Bard was a rare occurance in their household. Thranduil never had people over for an afternoon, much less a whole week.

    But it had been nice, sharing a living space with someone he wasn't used to. He thought he would miss the sound of Bard tossing and turning on the floor beside him.

    “You said he got expelled, right?” Oropher said after a moment, frowning thoughtfully.

    “Yeah,” Thranduil replied.

    “He never told you why?”

    Thranduil shook his head. He had never considered why Bard had been expelled. What did a kid have to do to even get themselves to that point? Thranduil remembered a couple of students who had skipped so much school they practically expelled themselves, but he somehow got the impression that Bard had done something legitimately wrong to warrant his expulsion. Perhaps that was his secret; perhaps that was a part of him he was trying to leave behind.

 

    By the time Sunday rolled around and it was time for Bard to go home, his mood had turned sour and miserable. Thranduil helped him pack up his things, but he was reluctant and moved slowly. He drifted about Thranduil’s room, picking up objects at random.

    “I really liked it here,” he said quietly.

    Thranduil stopped in the middle of folding the blankets that Bard had been using as a bed on the floor. He could feel his heart quickening its beat, restricting the air to his lungs. He had liked it too.

    “I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay the week,” Bard said.

    Thranduil hugged the folded blanket to his chest, as if it might prevent his heart from leaping out.

    “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s hard when you don’t get along with your family. I understand.”

    Bard smiled crookedly. “Yeah, I guess you would, huh?”

    “You’re always welcome here if you need to get away for a day or two,” Thranduil said, shifting on his feet and staring at the floor.

    Through his lashes, he still caught the way Bard’s face lit up. “For real? Thanks. That. Means a lot.”

    Thranduil went back to folding the blankets and Bard seemed a bit more chipper as he stuffed his bag with clothes and retrieved his pillows. When everything was packed, he said goodbye to Tauriel and Legolas, and thanked Oropher for his hospitality. Then he and Thranduil set off down the street together. The buses did not come regularly on Sundays, so they lugged everything to Bard’s house on foot.

    “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Bard said at his front door. He looked anxious about going inside. Thranduil didn't blame him.

    Thranduil dropped the bag he was carrying on the step. “I think Aredhel marked our essays over the break. I hope we get them back.”

    Bard shook his head, laughing. “Is school all you care about?”

    Thranduil shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got.”

    He was glad Bard didn’t laugh at that. He merely smiled and raised a hand in farewell. Thranduil waited until he went inside and then returned home.

 

    The first thing Glorfindel did when he saw Thranduil at school the next day was punch him. Repeatedly.

    “You – didn’t – reply – to – a – single – text!”

    Thranduil grabbed his friend by the arm to stop the violence, his eyes watering from the pain in his shoulder. He rubbed it vigorously, irritated.

    “I was busy!”

    Glorfindel’s nose was suddenly almost touching Thranduil’s. “Busy, huh? Busy with Bard? Huh?”

    Thranduil jerked his head back. “Lay off.”

    “You don’t fool me! I know exactly what happens in circumstances like yours last week. Ecthelion and I didn’t start messing around because we came to a mutual agreement, you know.”

    “Gross. Are you guys back together?” said Thranduil, seizing an opportunity to distract Glorfindel.

    “Yes. Kind of. Not exactly. You’re being evasive. Tell me everything.” Glorfindel looked positively beside himself with excitement.

    “What’s to tell? Not everything is gay, you know?” Thranduil said firmly.

    Glorfindel nodded solemnly. “A true and heartbreaking statement. So, nothing happened?”

    “No,” said Thranduil indignantly. “Bard didn’t want to be at home and everyone else – you included – had gone away. I was his only option.”

    “Fine, fine,” Glorfindel resolved. “Keep your secrets. Hey, will you come trick-or-treating with us tonight?”

    Thranduil groaned. He had forgotten today was Halloween. “No, thanks.”

    “It’ll be fun!”

    “That is your attitude towards everything,” Thranduil said.

    “Not so. I have Health first thing today and I didn’t do my homework. Fun has been cancelled until further notice. Until trick-or-treating, probably.”

    “Celeborn will give you detention if you’re not careful.”

    “Celeborn _loves me_.”

    They walked together to Form class, hauling their heavy bags and bumping into other students. Glorfindel seemed to collect his friends along the way. By the time they reached the classroom, he and Thranduil were surrounded by half the football team, plus other stragglers. Thranduil ducked out of sight and went to sit by himself at the front.

    He didn’t know why, but he half expected Bard to sit next to him. When Bard entered the classroom, however, he was hailed by Glorfindel at the back and joined the boys there.

    "The prodigal son returns!"

    Thranduil slumped in his seat as the roll was called by his Literature (and Environmental Science) teacher. Aredhel signed off on the names and then proceeded to walk about the class, handing out notices.

    When she got to the back of the room, she stopped. “Bard, do I need to write you up on your uniform?”

    Thranduil turned around in his seat to watch the exchange. Bard wasn’t wearing his green school tie.

    “Aw, Miss, have a heart. I couldn’t find it this morning. I must have left it… somewhere.”

    His eyes met Thranduil’s for the briefest of seconds.

    “That’s not an excuse,” Aredhel said firmly. “You should know better than to leave it lying around. That’s one strike; two more and it'll be detention.”

    “But, Miss, that’s so unfair!”

    Glorfindel and the others were trying to back Bard up, rioting angrily and making a general fuss. But Aredhel ignored them all and starting writing Bard down for having the incorrect uniform. Thranduil faced the front again, smirking. Now that he thought about it, he had seen an extra tie under his bed that probably did not belong there.

    Bard confronted him about it outside the Literature classroom, looking quite peeved at his demerit. 

    “I’ll have a look,” Thranduil promised. “I think I saw it under my bed. How did it even get in my house?”

    “It must have gotten caught with the other clothes I packed,” said Bard. “I can’t believe she wrote me up!”

    “Aredhel’s harsh,” Thranduil admitted. “Some teacher’s don’t care too much, but Rhovanion is overall pretty uptight where uniform is concerned.”

    Aredhel came down the corridor then, carrying a stack of books and what looked like the Literature students’ essays. She unlocked the classroom door and the small class filed inside. Bard and Thranduil took their usual shared desk at the back and the lesson started off with the essays being handed back.

    “What did you get?” said Bard, leaning over to spy Thranduil’s essay. “A-plus! Why am I not surprised.”

    Thranduil blushed, tucking the essay into his bag out of sight. “What did you get?”

    “B. Which isn’t too bad. I think she took pity on me because I chose the hardest topic to write about.”

    “I’m sure it’s a well-deserve B,” said Thranduil.

    Bard grinned and put his essay away. “Do you know which book we’re reading this term?”

    “Oh, I forgot you weren’t here,” Thranduil said apologetically. “She told us to bring _Steppenwolf.”_

    Thranduil watched as Bard riffled through his backpack for several moments while Aredhel started to write on the chalkboard. He pulled out loose bits of papers, several pens, food wrappers, a lighter, stray coins, but not his copy of _Steppenwolf,_ though he did not seem to have had hope of it being there anyway. He tugged out a stick of gum instead.

    “We’ll share,” said Thranduil, pushing his book towards Bard on the table. “Did you read it yet?”

    “I tried to. But… you know… _font_ …”

    “You really like to make things hard for yourself, don’t you?” Thranduil remarked with a light smile.

    “I should probably tell the teacher, shouldn’t I?”

    Thranduil nodded. He didn’t know why Bard wasn’t more honest about being dyslexic. It was nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, after all. Though, it did make him wonder what had happened for Bard to be so secretive about it.

    Secrets, secrets, secrets; it was all Bard seemed to have, and it was all Thranduil could really seem to understand, what with all the ones he kept himself.

    For the first time in what he was certain was years, Thranduil enjoyed sharing his book with another student. Bard did not tug, claim or monopolize the text, but followed the teacher quietly, leaning towards Thranduil ever-so-slightly. Thranduil could smell the shampoo in his hair.

    Aredhel stopped frequently to discuss the text, which gave Thranduil the opportunity to answer Bard’s (many) questions concerning the order of the words. Thranduil had to refrain from venturing off-topic to this, but he noticed that Bard never once uttered a complaint towards anything he had to say about the book.

    “Harry Haller sounds like you,” Bard said at the end of the lesson.

    Thranduil fixed Bard with a meaningful look. “I’m going to wait for you to finish that sentence before taking it as an insult.”

    “Why?” said Bard, stifling a laugh. “You like books and you hate people, he likes books and hates people. You’re practically twins.”

    “Funny. Wait until we finish reading it.”

    “Is it one of those deeply messed up books? What is with teachers assigning those?”

    “I don’t know. Maybe they’re trying to get a better sense of their own identity.”

    They went their separate ways to their lockers. Typically, Bard left for the cafeteria and they met up again during Chemistry, but today he waited for Thranduil and, without even noticing, Thranduil was steered to the cafeteria with everyone else.

    They went to the usual table underneath the magnolia tree, which was bare of leaves and spindly now that summer was properly over. Glorfindel and Ecthelion were already there with Finduilas, Celebrían and, to Thranduil’s immense surprise, Elrond. The latter almost never sat with anyone but his own group, who might have been considered to be the most popular kids in school had the rest of the student body taken a different attitude towards their wealth. The football team had taken on this title instead, and Glorfindel had risen to the occasion magnificently over the past three years.

    Bard and Thranduil squeezed onto the edge of the bench next to Glorfindel, who was in the middle of talking about that evening’s Halloween Operation, or 'Heist' as he liked to call it.

    “I can’t believe you’re going trick-or-treating this year,” Thranduil interrupted. “It’s a school night.”

    Glorfindel snorted, rolling his eyes at the others. “This guy.”

    “You won’t come with us, Thranduil?” said Celebrían from the other side of the table. “We won’t be out that late.”

    “No, he’s not allowed to go,” cut in Finduilas sternly. “The boys already have five on their team.”

    “Can we please get back to the negotiations,” said Glorfindel snappishly.

    Finduilas rolled her eyes and let him continue. Glorfindel took Halloween very seriously, going so far as to draw maps and diagrams and treating it like a war.

    “As I was saying, I think we should raid the central district. Intelligence shows that the north just isn’t into the Halloween spirit – excuse the pun – and it lowers the loot ratio by at least forty-three per cent.”

    Elrond snorted. “You pulled that statistic out of your ass, didn’t you?”

    “Further evidence,” Glorfindel spoke loudly over Elrond, “shows that the central district has better access to the town, and therefore to sweets. Distribution should be generous.”

    “What are you going as?” said Bard.

    Glorfindel looked nettled at being once again cut off, but he replied with, “Marilyn Monroe.”

    “What the hell,” said Finduilas, staring at him.

    “She’s the queen of my heart and I love her.”

    “Whatever. Nothing will beat my costume this year. I’ve been working on it since summer.”

    “What is it?” asked Celebrían.

    “Poison Ivy.”

    “Please tell me you’re dying your hair. You’d make a glorious redhead,” said Ecthelion.

    Finduilas looked scandalised. “No way. I got a wig.”

    “Back to the matter at hand,” said Glorfindel promptly. “What time are we meeting?”

    “Six o’clock?” suggested Ecthelion. “The girls will probably need extra time to get their costumes together.”

    Thranduil could tell he was only teasing, but Finduilas looked like she might punch him - not that she ever needed an excuse.

    “Well, that works for me because I have to stick around after school for a bit," she said. "I’ll let the girls know.”

    Taking extra care to whip her ponytail in Ecthelion’s face as she turned, Finduilas stood up to leave the table. Ecthelion spluttered and swiped at her, but missed. Laughing, she jogged into the cafeteria and disappeared.

    “We have to go too,” said Elrond, getting to his feet. “I promised Celebrían I’d help her with her Biology homework during our free.”

    “Oh, yeah,” said Celebrían, standing up as well, but without much enthusiasm.

    “Okay, bye!” Glorfindel yelled, raising a hand in farewell as they walked away from the cafeteria courtyard. “Bye, you two! Hope you have fun understanding each other’s biology! Byee!”

    He dropped his hand to the table, grinning toothily.

    “You have no shame, do you?” said Ecthelion who, despite his stern tone, was smiling as well.

    “Look, it’s no secret that they use the study room in the library to hook up. It’s so gross.”

    Ecthelion raised an eyebrow at him. “You and I are no different.”

    “Yeah, but they’re _straight_. What have they got to hide?”

    “I don’t know..." said Ecthelion seriously. "Dating Elrond must be pretty embarrassing.”

    They both burst into laughter, overturning a can of soda.

    “I didn’t know Celebrían and Elrond were dating,” Bard said to Thranduil.

    “They’re basically Rhovanion’s Golden Couple,” Thranduil explained. “They’re such a good match people are debating whether or not they’ve actually been promised to one another by their parents.”

    “Is that possible?”

    “Nah. Elrond's family isn't into that, and neither is Principal Galadriel."

    “They keep it pretty quiet though, huh?” said Bard.

    Thranduil nodded. “They’re suposed to be model students or something. They’re weird, okay? Well, Elrond is."

    “You’re coming tonight, right, Bard?” said Glorfindel, emerging at last from his fit of laughter while Ecthelion retrieved the soda can.

    “Yeah. Where are we meeting?”

    “At the town clock.”

    “So you’re running the bet with the girls again this year?” asked Thranduil.

    “Of course,” said Glorfindel.

    “What bet is this?” said Bard. “You didn’t tell me we were trying to win anything.”

    Glorfindel grinned widely. “Every year, we bet who can get the most loot from trick-or-treating. This is the last year and we’re determined to win.”

    “I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Thranduil quipped.

   

    He had no intention whatsoever of going trick-or-treating. Thranduil liked Halloween, certainly, and he used to love trick-or-treating. But ever since the Bad Thing happened, he no longer found joy in knocking on the doors of people who could be his classmates, or their parents, and who likely knew of the ‘tragedy’ that had befallen him and might try to offer him their pity.

    Oropher, on the other hand, had finally deemed Tauriel old enough to go trick-or-treating that year, so he was taking her and Legolas around the neighbourhood. As soon as Thranduil returned home with his brother and sister, they immediately started dressing up.

    “Where's your costume?” Thranduil asked his uncle.

    Oropher blanched. “I won’t be caught dead in a costume. Besides, those two are dressing up enough for the three of us.”

    Legolas and Tauriel came bounding down the stairs, dressed as Robin Hood and…

    “Tauriel, are you going as yourself?”

    Tauriel eyed Thranduil very carefully, unsure if he was making a joke or not. She cleared her throat, adjusted her witch’s hat, and turned to Oropher.

    “Where’s my broom?”

    Oropher handed it to her, smirking.

    “Are you going out tonight?” he asked Thranduil.

    “No.”

    “Don’t know why I even asked. We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

    They left the house, leaving Thranduil alone, which was actually quite uncommon. He had grown very accustom to always having someone in the house with him, which was a stark contrast to how he used to live with his parents. Deciding to make good use of the peace and quiet, he went to his room to make a start on his Global Politics assignment.

    His room was aglow with the afternoon sunlight, streaming in through the curtains. Thranduil checked his plants, making a few notes, though there was nothing interesting to document. Then, he tossed his school bag on his bed to get his books. And, there, he spotted it, something green poking out from under the bed. Kneeling down, he retrieved Bard’s tie from the floor. Thranduil shook it free of dust and lay it by this bag so as not to forget it.

    But then he saw something that made his heart freeze. There was a tiny ink stain on the end of it – the same ink stain Thranduil had made when trying to get a faulty pen to work – which meant the tie under the bed was his, and the one he was wearing was…

    He pulled at the tie he was wearing and slipped it over his head, feeling his face flushing. He had, of course, noticed there had been something off about it when he put it on that morning, but half-asleep as he had still been, he’d not given it a second thought. But now that he paid attention, the tie was stiffer than he was used to, and smelled faintly of deodorant he didn’t use.

    Blushing furiously, Thranduil switched the ties and tossed his own onto his bedside table, opting to ignore how fast his heart was beating at the thought of having worn Bard’s tie for the entire day. He took out his Global Politics books and started working on his assignment.

    He was a quarter of the way through it when his phone rang. Digging it out of his blazer pocket, he answered Glorfindel’s call, already regretting it.

    “Gil-Galad bailed on us so we need a fifth,” Glorfindel said without saying hello.

    “Surely _anyone_ else can go with you. I don’t even have a costume,” Thranduil grumbled.

    “Just be a ghost!”

    “I really don’t think –”

    “Look, I know you’ve got your reasons for not going trick-or-treating anymore, but you gotta do me this one solid. If we lose the championship, I’ll never forgive myself.”

    “We’re still talking about trick-or-treating here, right?”

    “Thranduil!”

    Thranduil knew Glorfindel was trying to guilt him into it, but what annoyed him most about it was that it was working. A part of him did want to go trick-or-treating, childish and exhausting though it was. He missed being part of the annual tradition of it; he missed having fun with other people.

    “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll see you at six.”

    “I literally love you so much right now.”

    “Goodbye, Glorfindel.”

    Thranduil hung up and sat at his desk for several moments, mentally absorbing what he just agreed to do. Then, he thought about his costume, and realised that he really had no other option than to cut holes in a bed sheet.

    He went to the linen closet downstairs and dug around for an old one for Oropher’s larger bed that was still relatively white. He found scissors in one of the kitchen drawers and then, measuring it carefully, he cut out two holes.

    Thranduil tossed the sheet over himself and went to look in the mirror. A comical ghost stared back at him, though seeing his own eyes through the holes ruined the effect slightly. Shrugging, he pulled the sheet off and discarded it on the sofa for later. He went back upstairs to finish his assignment.

   

    Oropher returned home with Legolas and Tauriel about thirty minutes later, laden with sweets and chocolates. Thranduil went down to meet them and admire their haul, which they were already eating even though dinner would be ready soon.

    “Arts-and-crafts project?” Oropher mused, sticking a finger through one of the holes in his bed sheet.

    “I’ve been hijacked,” Thranduil explained.

    “But why did you butcher _my_ bedsheet?”

    “I’m too tall for a single size.”

    Oropher shrugged. He wasn’t the type to get angry about these sorts of things. He had gotten up to worse mischief as a teenager and lived by the rule that, so long as drugs or crime wasn’t involved, he didn’t feel the need to get upset about it. He was still too much a teenager to justify any disapproval he might feel.

    “I was going to make ravioli for dinner, but I see now that there’s no point,” he said, watching Legolas and Tauriel devour their sweets on the sitting room floor. “Can you guys ease up a bit? You’ll get sick.”

    “Worth it,” Legolas mumbled through a huge bite of chocolate.

    “Tell me that again in an hour,” said Oropher darkly. He turned back to Thranduil. “What time are you leaving?”

    “Soon. I just have to get changed.”

    Thranduil went back to his room and changed out of his uniform, putting on jeans and a t-shirt. He grabbed his phone and house keys and then hurried down to grab his ‘costume.’

    “Here.” Oropher handed him a sandwich and a canvas shopping bag.

    “Thanks.”

    “Have fun.”

    Thranduil made an indistinct sound between a groan and a sigh. He tossed the sheet over his shoulder and headed out into the cold afternoon, wishing with all his might that he wasn’t doing what he was about to do.

    He was the first to arrive at the town clock. He sat down at the fountain it was centred around, setting the bedsheet aside and unwrapping the sandwich to eat.

    “Hey, you came!”

    Looking up, Thranduil saw Bard.

    At least, he was quite sure it was Bard, but from a distance it was a little hard to tell. He was wearing a red flannel over a white long-sleeved top, a denim jacket, an oversized tweed coat, and grey slacks tucked into loosely tied Doc Martin’s, which were finished off with a red bandana around the right one. He waved as he approached and took off the dark sunglasses from his eyes, and Thranduil saw that it was indeed Bard.

    “Oh, I get it,” he said, taking in the costume entirely. “The Breakfast Club, right?”

    Bard sat down on the fountain, looking thrilled. “Yeah! I was hoping it wouldn't be too obscure, but I didn't have time to come up with a proper costume. I just had to dig around my parents' closet."

    “It’s not that hard to get. It's good. It... suits you."

    Bard laughed and extracted a pair of black leather gloves from the pocket of his coat and put them on, completing the outfit.

    “Are you even wearing the earring?” Thranduil remarked, craning his neck to get a better look. There was a sparky diamond in Bard’s left ear.

    “Yeah. Hurt so much to get back in. I feel like I’m fourteen again. What are you dressed up as?”

    “I’m a ghost,” said Thranduil tonelessly, indicating the sheet.

    Bard laughed, taking it and holding it up to see the eyeholes. “This is actually really cool.”

    The sound of their names in the distance caused them to look up. Coming down from the main road were Marilyn Monroe, Waldo, and The Phantom of the Opera. Thranduil honestly couldn’t decide who looked the most ridiculous out of the three. Ecthelion was wearing a cape and everything.

    “Well, don’t we just look like a fantastic bunch of weirdos,” said Egalmoth, adjusting his red-and-white striped beanie.

    "I look fabulous, thank you very much," said Glorfindel as he put on a pair of strappy high-heels. He had gone above and beyond anyone's expectations for his costume; he wore the iconic white dress, which he had stuffed with tissues to fill out the chest, and his hair was so immaculately styled and curled that it practically glistened. He was even wearing fake eyelashes.

    “Thranduil, put your sheet on,” Ecthelion said, sliding down a half-mask over his face.

    Thranduil did, adjusting it over his eyes. "I feel stupid."

    "Nobody will know it's you. Let's go!"

    They took to the streets around the town centre, knocking on every door that had Halloween decorations out the front. Thranduil was grateful for his disguise, for a lot of the houses belonged to the parents of students from school. They commented on their own children going trick-or-treating that night, though nobody claimed them to have better costumes than the five boys on their doorstep. Bard, however, was very upset that nobody knew who he was supposed to be, and he told Thranduil off for giving him false hope. One person mistook him for a tag-along beggar.

    They ran into the opposition some several blocks into the hunt. Celebrían had gone to extreme excess as Cruella De Vil, wearing an elaborate faux-fur coat and a very, very heavy make-up. Niënor was matching Finduilas' Poison Ivy dressed as Harley Quinn, and Mithrellas and Nimrodel were a very tall Captain America, and Black Widow.

    “Oh, I get it,” said Egalmoth. “You’re _Black_ Widow.”

    Nimrodel’s expression was so withering Thranduil was surprised it didn’t melt the skin off Egalmoth's face.

    “Who’s under the sheet?” asked Niënor.

    “Thranduil,”

    “Shit, no way,” said Finduilas, coming up close to peer through the eyeholes of Thranduil’s sheet.

    He took an involuntary step back, glad that nobody could see how embarrassed he was. Next to him, Bard was grinning, adjusting the pillowcase of sweets over his shoulder.

    “Well, we still have thirty minutes,” said Celebrían. “Rendezvous at the town clock?”

    The two groups parted ways, glaring at one another.

    The boys had a lot of loot, but Glorfindel was determined to have bags bursting. They practically ran from house to house, Glorfindel tripping in his high heels and Thranduil’s sheet almost flying off him as he tried to keep up. He felt ridiculous, but he couldn't wipe the smile off his face.

    “Okay, I think we’ve got the championship in the bag, so to speak,” Glorfindel said, inspecting his sweets. “Let’s head back.”

    With only five minutes left to spare, they bolted through the streets teaming with children and teenagers all dressed in every manner of cartoon, character or icon. They arrived at the town clock just at the strike of 7:30, the bell resounding through the centre square. The girls were already there, looking prematurely smug. Thranduil didn’t approve of their confidence, but knew it wasn't without reason. They had never lost the Halloween Heist. 

    “How do we measure it all?” asked Bard, resting his bag on the fountain.

    “By weight,” said Ecthelion. “We use the scales at Oropher’s store.”

    “We used to count everything, but it’s hard to get an accurate number, and it takes forever,” said Egalmoth.

    “And it makes you guys cheat,” said Mithrellas.

    From the town clock, Thranduil’s uncle’s place was only a few minutes away. The two groups crossed the cobbled square together and headed towards the street. The store would be closing in thirty minutes, so they would have to be quick about it.

    They went to the fruit-and-veg aisles to use the hanging scales. One by one, they emptied the contents of their bags into the scales and wrote down the number it showed. When all five bags had been weighed for each group, they calculated the total. Thranduil held his breath as Egalmoth punched numbers into his phone. The girls had gone first and had therefore totalled theirs already. They waited, their anxious expressions comical through their elaborate costumes.

    “All done?” said Celebrían.

    Egalmoth nodded, looking nervous.

    He put his phone down on the mound of apples. Celebrían did the same, keeping her eyes averted. Then, everyone squashed together to read the scores.

>    ** _29.257 – 30.099_**

    Glorfindel looked like he was going to faint, scream, cry and hit someone all at once.

    “I can’t believe it…”

    “We won!” Niënor shrieked. “We fucking won!”

    “We lost,” Ecthelion said, slipping his mask up to his head in disbelief. “And by… less than a pound.”

    It was a hard loss, Thranduil understood that. As the winners, the girls received half of the boys’ total stash and Glorfindel in particular did not give his up with any sort of dignity. He sulked and pouted and carried on and then they were kicked out of the store because it was passed eight o’clock. They left the girls to their winnings, swooning outside the store.

    “I don’t even want these anymore,” Glorfindel mumbled, staring gloomily into his now half empty bag. “All I’m going to taste is bitter defeat. Again.”

    “Cheer up,” said Ecthelion. “At least you got to keep your Sour Patch Kids.”

    Tired and upset to have lost, they all started to head home. Thranduil took off his sheet with much relief. While the others headed to a bus stop that would take them north to the houses there, Bard and Thranduil walked the streets together, back to where they lived.

    “I know we lost, but that was fun,” Bard said, digging out something to eat. “People seemed to really like your costume!”

    “I don’t really think it justifies as a costume,” Thranduil said. He shivered. Now that he had taken it off, he was very cold without the sheet. The wind was biting. “It’s a lazy option.”

    “Yeah, but you pulled it off. Maybe because you’re so tall.” Bard chewed on a sweet for a moment, humming happily. Then he noticed Thranduil wrapping the sheet back around himself. “Are you cold? Here.”

    Before Thranduil could protest, Bard had dropped the long overcoat onto his shoulders. It was heavy, but irresistibly warm thanks to Bard’s body heat. Thranduil stuck his arms through it and smiled gratefully.

    “I’ll give it back tomorrow,” he said.

    “Don’t bother. It’s too heavy for that. I’ll pick it up next time I’m at your house.” Bard paused at the end of his street. “This is me. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

    “Bye.”

    Bard turned towards his street and disappeared into the darkness. Thranduil faltered for a half second, unsure of what was compelling him to follow, or what he would even do if he did. But he stuffed his hands into the pockets of Bard’s coat and headed home, his heart warm for what felt like the first time in a long time.


	10. backpedalling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel mentions University, Thranduil shares a hobby, and Bard takes a fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for you encouraging words and uplifting comments on the last chapter. I managed to finish all my assignments on time and I'm currently getting passing grades for everything, so staying in the library until 6pm in the last week it was worth it (WWTD: What Would Thranduil Do?).  
>   
> [New and updated playlist! Check it out](http://suan.fm/mix/G-Wb3uK)  
>   
>  ****Trigger Warning for mild homophobia + minor violence ** ******

* * *

 

  **Here is the hallway and here are the doors and here is the fear of the other thing, the relentless thing, your body drowning in gravity.**

 

* * *

 

Literature quickly became one of Bard’s favourite subjects, which was not something he would have expected, given his dyslexia. But he loved that it was a small class, with only a dozen students piled into the tiny room, and he loved spending a double period reading and analysing a book, even though he struggled to keep up sometimes. But that’s where Thranduil came in, and he was the part Bard loved most of all.

    After a week of sharing a room, the two boys had completely changed towards each other, though it was not immediately obvious to anyone but themselves. To the other students, Bard and Thranduil were much the same as they had always been - sharing a desk in class, and then parting ways during lunch times – but Bard felt the difference. He felt it in the way Thranduil’s fingers brushed his hands when he offered a pen, or the way his hair fell to his other shoulder now, leaving his face open for Bard to see. He liked to notice the tiniest discrepancies in Thranduil’s face every day – whether had a spot on his chin, or if the circles under his eyes were slightly darker than the day before. Bard couldn’t help it. He wanted to know every part of Thranduil intimately and entirely.

    The only issue he took with this was that he wasn’t in the habit of considering another person in such a way. Bard rarely had feelings for anyone, so he never knew what to do with himself when he did, and even then he wasn’t sure how to catalogue them. What category did these feelings fall under? He was hyperaware of Thranduil, and his heart always beat too fast when their eyes met, or when they sat too close together. Perhaps it was blind fancy, but it electrified him.

    And yet blind wasn’t the right word to describe it. Bard was anything but blind to Thranduil. How could he be? Thranduil was so bright and encompassing; like sunshine breaking through rainclouds.

 

    Bard was out on the field on Wednesday afternoon. It was freezing and pouring rain, but Glorfindel was still adamant about football training. Bard jogged on the spot in his gym uniform just outside the change rooms, rubbing his arms in the cold. Winter was fast on its way. At this rate, it would snow before December.

    “Check it out!” said Glorfindel, running over to him through the rain and ducking under cover of the change room veranda. “Your jersey finally came!”

    He held up a green-and-white t-shirt for Bard to see, emblazoned with a green number 9 on the back. Bard snatched it out of Glorfindel’s hands, practically reeling with excitement.

    “It’s so clean,” he said, eyeing Glorfindel’s old, stained one.

    “It’ll get filthy like everyone else’s pretty soon. Try to wash it regularly, yeah?”

    Glorfindel gave a thumbs-up and left Bard to go put his new jersey on inside. He shook it out against his body, grinning hugely and feeling immensely warm all of a sudden. It felt good to be a part of a team. It had been a long time since he had felt accepted by other people.

    They spent that wet afternoon with an intense training session, working on Glorfindel’s new tactics. Their first match was in two weeks and he was drilling them hard on footwork and passing the ball, determined to flatten Arnor when the time came. It was to be a home game, so Glorfindel was not prepared to lose on their own turf.

    “I want you lot here after school on Friday,” he said at the end of the session. The entire team was exhausted, and splattered with mud and rain. They regarded their captain with more than a little bitterness as he addressed them. “We need to start packing it in or we can kiss goodbye to the cup.”

    “I thought we did that last year,” grumbled Mablung, combing out a bit of mud from his dark hair.

    Glorfindel glared at him, but persevered. “I’m going to talk to Celeborn about getting into the school on Sunday as well.”

    “Aw, Glorfindel, do we have to come in on the weekend?” whined Gil-Galad. “That’s just overkill.”

    “Yeah, I have to work on Sunday,” piped up Nimrodel. “And a teacher has to be here to supervise us. There’s no way they’ll agree.”

    “Do you guys want to win or not?” Glorfindel rumbled.

    “Mate, you know we do, but it’ll be hard if you train us to death,” added Elros.

    “We need time for homework too, you know,” said Lethuin.

    “Do you even get homework in Year Ten, Lethuin?” said Finduilas.

    “He wouldn’t know – he doesn’t do it,” said Feren.

    Lethuin retaliated to this by punching Feren. Looking displeased, Glorfindel gave up on his pep talk and took the lead to the showers. His typically golden hair was black with dirt. He seemed despondent and troubled, his shoulders heavy with something Bard could not see.

    “How are things with Ecthelion?” he asked quietly.

    Thranduil had told Bard over the mid-term break about what had happened, expressing his concern for both Glorfindel and Ecthelion. Bard was worried about the both of them too, but he couldn’t help but take Ecthelion’s side, understanding all too well what it was like to have difficult parents. If Bard’s dad ever found out how he felt about Thranduil – passing fancy or no – he probably wouldn’t live to graduate.

    Glorfindel eyed Bard, as if wanting to suspect him of an ulterior motive, but knowing in his heart that there wasn’t one.

    “Yeah, I think we’re just going to be friends from now on,” he murmured, swinging his arms self-consciously.

    “But at least you’re talking again. You both seemed okay on Monday night,” Bard reasoned.

    Glorfindel smiled wryly. “Ecthelion. He’s good at pretending everything isn’t broken. But I don’t blame him. I pushed him too far this time, I think.”

    “You never know,” Bard said. “Maybe things will be different after graduation.”

    “I doubt it. Ecthelion’s parents have him down for some science program in Gondolin, so I’ll probably never see him.”

    “Gondolin? That’s, like, way up north, isn’t it?” said Bard.

    “Yeah. My parents want me to go there too, but I’d rather just apply for Imladris. It’s closer to home, and their sports program is pretty good. I mean, Gondolin’s is better, but there’s no way I’ll get in without a scholarship. My grades are too poor.”

    “It’s only second term,” Bard contested heartily. “You could still study and ace all your exams.”

    But Glorfindel shook his head. “Gondolin have Year Eleven Math as a blanket prerequisite for all their courses, and I haven’t taken Math since Year Ten, so I’m screwed to get in even with all my parents money.”

    He laughed dryly, pushing open the door to the change rooms. He let it go for Nimrodel to catch behind him.

    “What do you want to do? You going to uni next year?”

    Bard sighed. “I have no idea. I don’t know what I want to do when I get out of here.”

    “That’s rough,” agreed Glorfindel. “I mean, if I didn’t have football, I wouldn’t have a clue either. You don’t have any ideas?”

    “I guess I’d like to do something meaningful, you know?” Bard shrugged. “I thought about being, like, a doctor, or a psychologist. Or even a teacher. Take a leaf out of my da’s book.”

    “Hey, that’d be cool,” Glorfindel said with a nod, tugging off his drenched and muddy jersey. “Just don’t come back and teach here. That would be sad.”

    Bard laughed and took off his own jersey, claiming one of the showers before they were gone. He washed off all the dirt and rainwater and then dressed in his school uniform again. Outside, the rain was coming down harder than ever, grey storm clouds tumbling in from the west. Gil-Galad and Finduilas both stood under the veranda, the former on his mobile phone, asking if they could be picked up from school, though it didn't look like their chances were high.

    “You getting the bus?” Glorfindel asked.

    Bard shook his head. “I have to go to the library to print off some stuff. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

    Glorfindel waved goodbye and dashed out into the rain. Bard said farewell to the rest of the team before following suit, splashing through puddles to get to the library. He stamped his feet on the steps and then went squelching inside.

    It was mostly empty of students, save for one Year Eight class taking a lesson with the computers in the far corner. But Bard spotted Thranduil before anyone else, hunched over at a desk, flicking through a stack of cards. Bard figured he was studying for something, but as he drew closer, he noticed Thranduil was actually holding photos.

    “Hey,” he greeted.

    Thranduil looked up and smiled. “Oh, hey, how was practice?”

    “Brutal. I don’t think my shoes will ever dry after that.”

    Bard dumped his bag on the desk and took the seat next to Thranduil, peering over his shoulder to see the photos in his hands.

    “They finally got developed,” Thranduil explained, offering them to Bard. “I gave Celebrían copies just before.”

    “You gave her copies?” Bard said.

    “Just of the ones I thought she’d want. She likes them as keepsakes, I think. And I know she’s working on the Yearbook this year,” Thranduil said.

    Bard started sorting through the pictures, careful not to get too many fingerprints on them. It was strange even to hold physical evidence of photos in his hands, accustomed as he was to seeing everything digitally. But he couldn’t deny that Thranduil’s photos were exceptional; it was clear he had a real talent with his camera. Among many others, Bard saw a photo of himself and Gil-Galad playing football at the beach, Legolas and Tauriel eating ice cream, various sunsets, Oropher halfway through stacking it down the stairs, Celebrían and Elrond flirting with each other behind the science building, and Glorfindel bouncing a football on his head.

    But Bard’s favourite photo was the last one in the pile. It was the one he had taken of Thranduil during mid-term, turned around in his desk chair with a half-surprised expression on his face, his hair flicking over his shoulder. He looked… really honest. There was something beautiful about his profile that Bard couldn’t quite fathom.

    He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but when Thranduil bent down to retrieve something from his bag, Bard took the photo from the pile and slipped it between the pages of his Math book. His face burning, he handed the rest back to Thranduil.

    “You’re really good,” he said as casually as possible. “Have you ever considered it as a career?”

    “Photography?” Thranduil said. “Not really. I prefer it as just a hobby. I’m afraid that if I take it up as a job, I won’t like it anymore.”

    “That makes sense. You have Instagram, don’t you?”

    Thranduil nodded. “Glorfindel is always jealous that I have more followers than him.”

    “How many do you have?”

    “Around five-thousand, last time I checked,” Thranduil replied, smiling weakly.

    Bard whistled impressively. “Are you going to put some of these on there?”

    “Yeah, I just scanned them onto my laptop. But I’ll do it later. I have so much homework.” Thranduil laughed shakily, unzipping his pencil case to find a pen.

    “I thought you were usually on top of that sort of thing,” said Bard.

    “I’ve been spending too much time on my thesis, so I fell behind on everything else,” Thranduil explained, sighing. He looked disappointed. “Never mind. I should be able to finish it all by tonight.”

    “Are you staying until three-thirty?” said Bard.

    “I usually do on Wednesdays, but I don’t have to today. I’m pretty tired, though. I think I’ll go soon.”

    “Why not go now? Don’t you want to take advantage of a half-day?” Bard countered.

    Thranduil glanced out the window where the rain was picking up again, splattering fat droplets on the glass. “Yeah, the weather is really calling me out.”

    Bard laughed. “Alright, have it your way. I have to print off some stuff now, so I’ll see you later.”

    “Sure.”

    Thranduil waved him off and Bard took his bag to one of the computers not claimed by a Year Eight student. He fumbled for his memory stick and then set about printing off his P.E and Chemistry homework. When he went to grab the sheets from the printer, he spared a look towards Thranduil, who was bowed low over a large diagram on the desk. He looked troubled and tired, and Bard wished there was something he could do. But Thranduil was quiet and kept to himself, and Bard understood that it was more important to leave him be.

    He offered Thranduil a final farewell before leaving the library. Tucking his homework into his bag, Bard dashed through the rain towards the teachers offices in the administration building. Both Celeborn and Caranthir were teaching other classes that afternoon, so Bard left his homework on their desks and started to head home.

    He took the long way around to the school’s entrance to avoid the rain, coming out through the archway on the right side. Ahead of him, he spotted Niënor standing with a stocky, dark-haired boy. Bard thought at first that they were just talking, but as he neared them, he noticed the boy was looming over Niënor in an intimidating fashion. Angry tears brimmed her eyes and she had her hands in fists.

    “– a joke. You took her away from me,” the boy was saying.

    “ _You_ must be joking if you think Finduilas can’t make her own decisions,” Niënor retorted. “I don’t know why you’re breathing down my neck, Gwindor. She ditched you weeks ago.”

    “And I’ve been trying to get her back, but you’ve gone and turned her into a fucking lesbian or something. She won’t even look at me.”

    If it were possible, Niënor became even angrier. Her pink hair bristled and she tried to size up Gwindor, puffing out her chest to assert her position. She wasn’t the type to back down, no matter how ugly the situation could potentially get. But Bard knew she didn’t stand a chance against a guy like that. He wouldn’t physically hurt her, surely, but he seemed like the ignorant, unwavering type.

    “A girl doesn’t have to be a lesbian to know she has to steer clear of assholes like you. Have you ever considered that maybe you’re the problem in this scenario?”

    Gwindor laughed bitterly, cracking his knuckles. “That’s bullshit. She was into me, I know it. But then she started hanging out with you more and more, and suddenly she dumped me and started playing football. I just put two-and-two together.”

    “Oh, you know two-plus-two? You’re so clever!” Niënor’s voice was sickly sweet and condescending, and it only made Gwindor close in on her more, barring any escape from the enclosed space.

    The bell rang for lunch time then, distracting the two students for a half-second. Bard decided to step in. He wasn’t about to let a friend be outmatched by a bully.

    “Hey, Niënor, are you okay?” he said, opting to ignore the other boy.

    Niënor huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m fine.”

    “Dude, can’t you see we’re trying to have a conversation?” Gwindor snapped.

    “Sounds a bit one-sided to me,” said Bard, turning to face him.

    “Yeah, well no-one asked you to eavesdrop.”

    “The archway is a communal area. It’s not my fault you didn’t choose somewhere more private to – ah – converse.”

    “Don’t worry, Bard. Gwindor is just wounded from being dumped by the prettiest girl in school,” Niënor spat.

    “Yeah, because you can’t keep your dyke-y hands to yourself,” Gwindor shot back.

    “What the hell is your problem?” Bard interjected.

    Gwindor rounded on him. “Right now?”

    All around them, students were milling out of classrooms, finding their way to the courtyard just outside the archway. It had momentarily stopped raining, so they were taking advantage of this to hurry down the street for fast food, or else catch the bus home. Bard was afraid of the audience that may witness Gwindor’s fury, for he looked ready to hit Bard, and Bard knew it wouldn’t end well if that happened.

    “You shouldn’t take out your anger on other people,” he attempted to reason. “I mean, getting dumped sucks, but you have to move on, man.”

    “It’s way bigger than that. Besides, it’s not your concern.” Gwindor returned his attention to Niënor, who almost flinched under his gaze, but managed to gather her bearings fast enough to prevent it. “Tell Finduilas that if she doesn’t at least start talking to me, I’ll bring our families into this. She should count herself lucky I haven’t already.”

    “You can’t blackmail her!” Niënor cried. Gwindor advanced on her, his dark eyes glaring, but she did not presume to back off. “You’re a proper piece of work. It’s no wonder Finduilas dumped you. Even her brother didn’t want to fuck you.”

    Bard didn’t need to know Gwindor as a person to understand that Niënor had properly set him off. His face went red, and he began to raise a hand, as if to strike her.

    Bard felt as if he was watching it happen in slow motion. Niënor realised her mistake too late and her eyes went wide when she saw the hand coming down towards her. But Bard was quick to intervene. He grabbed Gwindor’s forearm and stopped him mid-blow. It worked, but it meant Gwindor’s attention was now on a much larger threat. He wasn’t taller than Bard, but he was slightly stronger, and his ire was quite frightening.

    Bard heard Niënor exclaim first, and he felt the pain in his jaw second. He stumbled back, clutching his mouth, tasting blood; tasting it like it was the first time.

    The blindness came before he could shut it down. His school bag hit the ground, and his fist made contact with Gwindor; his face, his stomach, his jaw. Gwindor hadn’t been expecting a retaliation, and he was caught off guard. He held up his arms to block Bard’s punches to his face, but Bard just aimed for his stomach instead, sending Gwindor heaving to the floor. It was quick and effortless, so Bard didn’t have time to stop and hate himself for it.

    “Stop it! He’s had enough!”

    Just one more kick, Bard thought, to make sure Gwindor was properly hurt. But he didn’t manage it. Someone grabbed his arm and wrenched it back with decent strength. Then, two arms looped beneath his and dragged him away from Gwindor, who was kneeling on the ground, spitting blood and choking. Someone hurried over to check on him. The arrival of a new person made Bard’s vision clear. He took a deep breath, then looked around.

    Everyone was staring at him, the silence stunned and disbelieving. Many students had stopped to watch the fight, keen for some entertainment. But now they were only horrified, standing on anxious tip-toes to see if the boy on the ground was all right. It was exactly like last time, Bard realised. It was happening all over again.

    Bard let himself go limp, and the person holding him released their grip. He glanced at them, wondering who it was, and somehow wasn't surprised to see Thranduil, his face white and deadpan with shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. So, now you know why Bard got expelled from his old school. Can't take the fight from that kid. I had this part planned out from the very beginning, and it was actually taken from the original version of this story, except I just made it a bigger deal, because it is a big deal. The exploration of youth is like a carnival ride. I hope you all liked the chapter. The next one (whenever it will be) will be a lot calmer, pinky promise.


	11. aftershock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finduilas and Gil-Galad offer some insight, and Thranduil shares a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here are the timetables as requested](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1O342kOlEkWg7H9Y1H7tmlelOfSGWZQ2tDXS3fvhKD2E/edit?usp=sharing). I included some notes on the teachers as well.

* * *

  

**So now we have come to the great battlefield, the warmth of the fire, the fire still burning, the heat escaping like a broken promise.**

 

* * *

 

Something rooted Thranduil to the chair outside the principal’s office. His grip was tight around the strap of Bard’s school bag and his leg bounced anxiously against the upholstery. What else was he supposed to do? Ditch the bag and run? Pretend he wasn’t totally freaking out? What he had seen in the archway had scared him a little, if he was truthful, but it worried him more than it scared him. Thranduil was worried about Bard.

    He could hear muffled voices in the office behind him. Aredhel had unwittingly arrived upon the scene and frog-marched Bard to Principal Galadriel’s office with barely a word spoken. Niënor had gone with them, a blaze in her look. There hadn’t been time to explain what happened; there had barely been time to see it in the first place. It felt like it had been over in seconds.

    Several minutes passed with Thranduil sitting outside the office, arguing with himself, unsure of what to do. He had always promised himself to keep his head down at school and not get involved in other people’s shit.

    But it was Bard. How could he pretend not to care? How could he be anything but worried?

    Footsteps were approaching down the corridor, heavy and quick. Thranduil looked up to see Finduilas and Gil-Galad coming around the corner, their hair wet and their bags swinging. Gil-Galad had seen the fight and evidently told his sister. She looked livid.

    “Are they inside?” she said, coming to a halt before Thranduil, who stood up quickly.

    He nodded. “It’s only been about ten minutes.”

    “I can’t believe this. I will kill him this time, I swear!”

    “We don’t know the whole story yet,” Thranduil said defensively. “I mean, I’m not saying what Bard did was okay, but –”

    Finduilas cut him off. “Not Bard. Gwindor, that prick. He’s like a kicked dog that wants a treat.”

    “We have to tell mum and dad before Gwindor tells his parents,” said Gil-Galad, already taking out his mobile phone. “They’re already not happy with you for breaking it off, so I can’t imagine what they’ll do once they find out about this.”

    Finduilas glanced at her brother, her thumbnail between her teeth. “But we can’t defend what Bard did. Gwindor has all the cards now.”

    “The fuck he does,” Gil-Galad snarled at his phone. “You are not going back to him.”

    “I can handle this myself,” said Finduilas firmly, covering the screen of the phone with her hand. “Gwindor’s family can’t force me to do anything if mum and dad don’t give their consent, and they won’t.”

    “I feel like I’m missing something here,” Thranduil interjected, catching their attention. “Do you know what happened?”

    Gil-Galad shrugged awkwardly, clicking his phone off and putting it away. “We’ve got a pretty good idea. If Niënor’s involved, then it means Gwindor was probably trying to get through to her about Finduilas. He’s been on her case for weeks ever since she dumped him. I mean, his parents have been really drilling it into him that they have to get married or whatever, but he’s got no hope if our parents don’t consent to it. And they won’t, after what he did. He should just drop it.”

    “Why, what did he do?” asked Thranduil.

    “He was starting to take himself a bit too seriously,” said Finduilas bitterly. “We were arguing one day, and I could see he wanted to hit me – I think he would have if I hadn’t walked away – so I called it off right there and told mum. She seemed kind of pleased, to be honest.”

    Gil-Galad nodded. “His family were more enthusiastic about the two of you than ours were. Mum and dad didn’t really care.”

    “He tried to hit Niënor,” Thranduil suddenly remembered. “I think that must have started it. I didn't hear what they were arguing about, but I did see Gwindor start the fight.”

    Both Finduilas and Gil-Galad fell silent, the former going completely pale. She didn’t look shocked, but there was a numbing quality to her expression that unnerved Thranduil. Finduilas was fierce about her friends and family. He had never met a more terrifying person.

    “Well, in that case, I’m just sorry _I_ didn’t see that asshole get beaten up. I hope Bard is let off easy,” she said.

    “They wouldn’t expel him, would they?” Thranduil said nervously.

    “It’s hard to tell how big of a deal they make out of it,” said Gil-Galad thoughtfully.

    “He didn’t start it,” Thranduil added uselessly.

    “At this point, I really don’t think that matters. Gwindor’s lucky he isn’t in hospital.”

    “Don’t worry,” said Finduilas, smacking her fist into her palm. “I’ll make sure he gets there.”

    Gil-Galad stifled a laugh poorly, but Thranduil didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he had seen, and the anger he had witnessed in Bard, who always took so much care to be gentle and respectful. But there was something telling in that, he thought. Bard must have gone to great lengths to hide himself. Thranduil had a feeling this wasn’t the first time he had gotten into trouble for just such a reason.

    The office door opened, and all three standing outside it turned to look. Niënor exited first, and was immediately wrapped up into a hug by Finduilas, disappearing behind her long ponytail.

    Bard followed, his head bowed and his jaw red. There was a smudge of blood on his knuckles and he looked close to tears. Thranduil stepped forward, holding out his school bag. Bard blinked at him, wiping his eyes hastily.

    “You’re here,” he managed to say.

    He looked surprised, and Thranduil knew at once that he had made the right decision in staying.

    “You ought to go to first aid,” said Aredhel from the door.

    “I’m fine,” Bard mumbled, rubbing his jaw. “Can I go?”

    Aredhel clearly disapproved of his attitude, but a curt nod was all he needed to shrug on his school bag and head down the hall. Thranduil hurried after him, catching up his own bag and leaving the others behind.

    “Wait up!” he said, but Bard didn’t slow down.

    Thranduil followed him all the way to the senior wing lockers, where Bard finally let up and started twisting the dial on his locker. His hair was all in his face, wild and curling and maddeningly beautiful. But Thranduil wanted to know if he was okay. If there was a word he could say or an action he could do to make everything feel normal again, he wanted to do it.

    “Are you alright?” he said.

    “I’m fine,” Bard repeated, opening his locker, the tin knocking noisily.

    “What happened?”

    Bard didn’t reply, so Thranduil tried a different tactic.

    “You can tell me. I’m not upset or anything.”

    Bard was taking out his school books – all of his school books. He crammed them into his bag one by one, stuffing loose bits of paper and pens in between.

    “You – you didn’t get expelled, did you?”

    “No,” Bard muttered.

    “So what happened?”

    Thranduil flinched when Bard slammed shut his now empty locker. The sound of the metal bounced along the silent corridor, catching through the classrooms and windows. Bard didn’t look angry anymore; he just looked sad.

    “Just drop it, okay?”

    “Why are you being like this?” Thranduil persevered. “I can help.”

    “I don’t want your help.”

    Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, Bard brushed passed Thranduil without another word.

    For a moment, Thranduil simply stood there, staring at the locker slightly ajar, the padlock swinging in the hook. He felt harrowed; like someone had taken his heart and turned it over on the wrong side. A part of him knew he had to let Bard go; to let him walk out the door and be the moody piece-of-shit he wanted to be.

    But that was only a part of Thranduil.

    He ran back, pushing open the senior wing door and stumbling out into the courtyard. Bard was just a little way ahead, so Thranduil hastened to catch up again. He grabbed his arm, spinning him around so they faced each other.

    “You’re being an asshole!” Thranduil said, taking care not to shout in case any windows were open.

    “Yeah, well, maybe that’s what I am,” Bard retorted, wrenching his arm out of Thranduil’s hand. “Now you understand.”

    “I’m trying to be here for you, because I know how much it sucks to face this kind of stuff alone. I’m sure you feel awful, but –”

    “It doesn’t matter how I feel, alright?” Bard didn’t shout. He couldn’t. The tears that had brimmed his eyes all this time were starting to spill to the surface. “I messed up – _again_ – so there’s no point offering me sympathy, because I don’t deserve it.” 

    Thranduil felt dumbstruck, but he took an involuntary step closer to Bard, his chest constricting painfully. “You just made a mistake –”

    But Bard cut him off again. “And it’s the same mistake I always make! I’m tired of pretending I can be better than who I was. I’m never going to be better.”

    Before Thranduil could get in another word, Bard stormed off. The rain returned, splashing into its previously made puddles, and Bard started running to get out of it, dashing through the courtyard, around the corner, and out of sight.

    Thranduil ducked under shelter, his heart feeling as badly beaten up as Gwindor.

 

    Thranduil didn’t mind being alone. In fact, he preferred it. He was uncomfortable around other people – particularly fellow students – and there was never room for him to breathe. His psychologist – when he’d had one – pinned it down to anxiety, which Thranduil figured wasn’t going to go away any time soon.

    He learned to live with it; to embrace the solitude that came with it. He didn’t mind being alone. Less people stared at him that way.

    And yet, Bard had been different, and Thranduil only realised this when he was no longer around. With Bard, Thranduil’s anxiety seemed to melt away, even for just the moment they were together. He felt happier, lighter, and safer, like he never had with another person. There was Bard, and then there was everyone else.

    When Thranduil sat down at his first class without Bard (Ancient History) he felt immediately disorganised. His thoughts scattered, taking him back to the Bad Thing – to the irrefutable exile he had instilled upon himself – and the loneliness of his own design. It was like going back to being the person he had fused to the school walls, disappearing from everyone’s line of sight.

    At lunch time, he went to the library, but even there it felt strange without Bard. Thranduil kept looking up towards the door, expecting him to come shuffling in, chewing gum with his hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face.

    This went on until Friday – the cutting, blinding absence – until the weekend came, and Thranduil finally had something else to think about, though it gave him perhaps even less pleasure than the prospect of school without Bard.

    “I got you something,” said Glorfindel, digging into his school bag. He and Thranduil were waiting for the bus together after staying back after school to finish their Chemistry homework.

    Thranduil moaned. “I told you not to.”

    “Yeah, but it’s me, so I didn’t listen.” Glorfindel rummaged for a few seconds more before unveiling a badly wrapped package and handing it over. “You’ll love it, trust me.”

    Rolling his eyes, Thranduil opened the gift. It was a very old, very battered disposable camera.

    “Gee, you shouldn’t have.”

    Glorfindel frowned. “I found it in my attic. Remember that summer we spent at your parents villa when we were kids?”

    Thranduil looked down at the camera again, turning it over in his hands in wonder. The paper cover was crumpled and torn in several places. It was weighted, which meant there was film inside.

    “You think the film might still be okay?” Glorfindel asked.

    “Only one way to find out,” Thranduil said. He paused, rubbing some grit out of the tiny lens before turning to Glorfindel. “Thank you.”

    Glorfindel grinned smugly. “Told you you’d like it. I am the best! Oh, here’s some money, too. I won’t make you pay for the development.”

    He handed Thranduil a few wrinkled notes, and then proceeded to tug a scarf out of his school bag. He wrapped it around his neck, burying his nose into the wool to stave the chill. The sun had nearly set, and the sky was overcast with clouds.

    “Aren’t you going to have a party? Turning eighteen is a big deal.”

    “Who would I invite, Glorfindel?” Thranduil said bitterly, putting the camera away in his bag.

    “Me? I’m all the party you need!”

    “I think I’ll just start my Literature essay.”

    “You know, sometimes I think you were born on a different planet,” Glorfindel said.

    “I think the same about you. But don’t nag me, okay? I don’t like birthdays, and this one is going to be especially awful,” Thranduil concluded, catching sight of the bus down the street.

    “How can you say that? You’re finally getting all your parents money! That’s the best birthday present there is!”

    The bus stopped and they got on, touching on their tickets. Taking seats up the back, Glorfindel and Thranduil squashed close together to stave the cold.

    “Maybe I can finally look for a car,” Thranduil muttered. “One with heating.”

    “Didn’t your dad have a bunch of cars in his garage?” said Glorfindel.

    “Yeah, but I don’t fancy any of them. We’ll see.”

    Glorfindel hummed thoughtfully to himself, and Thranduil knew he was reminiscing the hours they had spent in Thranduil’s old home, playing games and pretending to be all sorts of unrealistic things like kings or warlocks or pirates. They had been best friends, once upon a time, and Thranduil often wished he hadn’t been so selfish as to tear that friendship apart. Glorfindel was still his best friend, but things just weren’t the same after what happened.

    “Have you heard anything from Bard?” Glorfindel asked.

    Thranduil shook his head. “Nothing. He isn’t answering my texts.”

    “Same here. I even gave Niënor his number, but he won’t reply to her either.”

    “Do you know how long he’s suspended for?” Thranduil said.

    “Ten days.” Glorfindel sighed. “It’s lucky. Any longer and he would’ve been benched for our first match. I hope he’ll still come to practice. I talked to Aredhel and she said he can attend since it’s not technically a class. But he didn’t say anything when I told him. I tried to call, but his phone goes straight to voicemail.”

    Thranduil had his doubts about Bard coming to football practice. He hadn’t told anyone, least of all Glorfindel, who would lose his collective nut if he knew, but the way Bard had emptied his locker on Wednesday had left Thranduil feeling suspicious. He had reason to believe this was not Bard’s first suspension from school, and that his reaction to it was almost instinct. An empty locker meant he did not intend to come back.

    Thranduil got off the bus, waved goodbye to Glorfindel, and headed home on foot through the wind and gentle sleet of rain. He thought of his birthday tomorrow, and how Bard would feel if he knew he was missing it. Thranduil never expected anything from his friends – or anyone he knew, really – but he was sure Bard would be upset if he found out about it too late. He was just one of those people; too thoughtful for his good.

    Pulling out his phone, Thranduil sent a quick text to Glorfindel, hoping his request wouldn’t completely backfire thanks to Glorfindel’s big mouth.

_Don’t tell Bard it’s my birthday. It’ll just upset him._

   

    On the following Tuesday, Nellas approached Thranduil at his locker after school. She was holding a manila folder under her arm and bearing the same, anxious expression Thranduil remembered from last term.

    “Is that homework for Bard?” he asked before she could say anything.

    “Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t be doing this. He’s supposed to catch up on his school work when he returns, but given the circumstances…”

    She trailed off, chewing her lip. Thranduil took the folder from her and added it to the pile of books in his bag.

    “You’re too lenient with us, you know?”

    “Not true,” Nellas contested quickly. “I have no patience for that Glorfindel boy. He drives me up the wall with his football nonsense. And besides, Bard is a special case, so I thought I’d give him the opportunity to excel in spite of his failings.”

    “Why do you say that?” said Thranduil.

    Nellas shrugged awkwardly, side glancing at passers-by in a secretive manner, as though afraid to be overheard, though Thranduil knew nobody cared enough to listen. “When he started, I was told Bard was a troubled kid. His psychologist at the time insisted he be treated like one. But he’s such a nice boy, and a good student. I think he’s been treated very unfairly.”

    Thranduil said nothing to this, but privately agreed. Watching Nellas walk back to her office, he thought about what Bard would have said if he’d heard that. Thranduil wondered if he would have disagreed.

    He felt uneasy, getting off the bus at a stop that wasn’t his own, but Thranduil tried to act natural as he headed down the street to Bard’s house, bearing good wishes from Glorfindel, Ecthelion, and Nimrodel. He was nervous, like someone had just punched him in the chest. He was worried Bard thought he was hated because of what happened. His silence had Thranduil believing he felt outcast and disliked. It was true students were still whispering about the boy who gave Gwindor a good (and well-deserved) beating, and that they were officially labelling Bard as scary, but that didn’t mean he had no friends to stand by him. Thranduil wasn’t scared or ashamed of Bard. He just wanted to know if he was okay.

    Approaching the door to Bard’s house, Thranduil tried to steady his heartbeat, but it was no good. He couldn’t understand why he was so disorganised at the thought of seeing Bard, especially now, but he was glad at least that his feelings had not changed, whatever those feelings were supposed to be.

    Thranduil knocked on the door, holding his breath. It was the same as last time – he thought no one would answer – but eventually the door opened, and a tuft of blonde hair greeted him from between the crack.

    “Oh, thank god.” Bard’s mother threw the door open fully, startling Thranduil into taking a step back. “Please do something about him.”

    Thranduil smiled weakly. “You’re not angry at him, are you?”

    Sian sighed. “He’s lucky I don’t have the energy to be angry. I mean, from what I heard, that boy deserved what he got, but I can’t exactly take Bard's side when he's the one who got suspended.”

    Thranduil entered the house, taking off his scarf as he did so. “I’m just sorry I didn’t get there sooner. Maybe I could have helped.”

    “Don’t blame yourself, dear. He brought it upon himself.”

    “Where is he?”

    “In his room. He might be fused to the bed by now, go check.”

    Thranduil took this as a sign to go upstairs. Sian did not follow, but glared at the wall for several moments before shuffling off down the hall.

    Bard’s bedroom door was close, so Thranduil knocked, but there was no reply. With a deep breath, he turned the handle and let himself in.

    It was pitch darkness inside. The curtains were drawn and it took a long moment for Thranduil to adjust to the lack of light. He couldn’t make out much, except a chaos of clothes, mugs, and wrappers, and a lump on the mattress, which was starting to shift beneath the duvet.

    “Is dinner ready?” it mumbled as it emerged.

    “I don’t think so,” said Thranduil.

    Silence hovered for a moment as Thranduil’s voice was recognised, then Bard disappeared into a lump again.

    “I brought you homework.”

    “I don’t want it.”

    Thranduil waded through the rubbish tip that was Bard’s room and laid the manila folder on the desk. Then, he drew the curtains and let in the remaining daylight, revealing the true extent of the debris of clothes and scattered books on the floor. On the desk, Thranduil spotted Bard’s phone. He clicked the button on it, but it was dead.

    “That explains that.”

    Locating a charger on the bedside table, Thranduil returned to Bard’s bed and sat down to plug the phone into the wall. He glanced at the lump still sulking beneath the duvet.

    “I’m not leaving until you come out,” he said, adding his school bag to the mess on the floor.

    “Jokes on you, I have Pringles, so I can stay under here forever.” Bard’s voice was barely audible through the thick fabric, but it still made Thranduil smile.

    “You know, everyone’s worried about you. There’s no reason for this.”

    Bard did not say anything. His phone lit up next to Thranduil, who had never seen so many notifications before. Glorfindel, who never half-assed anything, had sent over one-hundred text messages.

    “You should reply to these,” he said. “Ignoring everyone just makes it worse.”

    “I don’t need reminding that I’m the worst, thanks.”

    “I just mean it makes them worry about you more.”

    Bard finally appeared from beneath the duvet, blinking blearily at the sunlight. His dark hair was tousled and unwashed, curling about his ears and sticking up at odd angles. There were dark circles around his eyes, and there was a healing bruise on his jaw, blotchy and painful-looking.

    “Why are you being so nice to me… again?” he muttered.

    “Kindness is free. And I know what you’re going through right now.”

    Bard snorted, sitting up properly. “Yeah, right. How many fights have you gotten into?”

    “None,” Thranduil admitted. “But I have pushed all my friends away because I was ashamed and upset. It’s not worth it. They just give up on you, in the end, and you realise that’s not what you needed them to do.”

    Bard hugged his knees to his chest. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t be going back to school.”

    Thranduil had been expecting Bard to say this, but he was still surprised at the tremor is sent through his chest, and the way his breath caught in his throat. The idea of school without Bard felt… empty. More empty than it had been before he’d arrived. Bard was a constant. Thranduil only realised now how essential that fact was to him.

    “Nobody hates you. If all these messages aren’t proof of that, I don’t know what is. They all still want to be your friend.”

    “It’s not that,” Bard interjected. “I promised myself I’d be better, and that I wouldn’t fuck things up this time. But I did, and I let everyone down. I just… don’t want to face that part of myself again. I don't want another school acting like they need to avoid me."

    Thranduil sighed, feeling frustrated. It was like talking to a brick wall. “I know you did a bad thing, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. People will forget; they have their own shit to worry about. I mean, no offence, but you’re not the most exciting person at our school.”

    Bard actually laughed at this, and he moved his legs down to cross them. He stared at his hands. “I feel like shit. I can’t believe I did it again.”

    “It’s not that bad,” said Thranduil.

    “Yeah, but it is,” Bard said, shaking his head. “I’m lucky I didn’t get expelled.”

    “Niënor told us everything,” Thranduil said quickly. “They couldn’t expel you for that. You actually did a nice thing for her. She’s really grateful. You’d know that if you read your messages.”

    “I had to write that prick an apology. It was so embarrassing.” Bard laughed dryly, but it turned into a sigh, and he raised his head to stare out the window across from his bed. “I made such a mess of things.”

    “You made a mistake, not a mess. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

    “Ah, you don’t know what it’s like.” Bard stated it as a fact, not a criticism, but it still nettled Thranduil.

    “I told you, I do. I’ve been where you are now. I’ve had that whole school turn their back on me,” he said fiercely.

    “But this is different! You didn’t do anything wrong!” Bard contested.

    “Didn’t I?”

    Thranduil spoke without thinking, and at once he wished he had kept silent. He hesitated, watching Bard’s expression shift into confusion. Was it worth it to share the secret? Was it worth the regret he would later feel? 

    “What do you mean?” said Bard.

    “There’s a basis for every rumour,” Thranduil said, twisting his fingers anxiously. His heart felt wrongly placed in his chest.

    Bard gaped at Thranduil. “You’re not saying –?”

    “I’m just putting things into perspective,” Thranduil interrupted hastily. “And I’m telling you that I really do know how you feel.”

    He stood up, grabbing his bag from the floor. On the bedside table, Bard’s phone lit up with another notification.

    “You know, everyone really likes you, and this isn’t going to change how they feel. You still have friends at school.”

    “Are you not in that category?” said Bard, latching onto the way Thranduil had excluded himself.

    The question caught Thranduil off guard. When he really thought about it, he had never considered himself as one of Bard’s friends. They certainly didn’t spend the most time together, or even talk to each other that often. There was hardly enough foundation there for friendship.

    And yet Thranduil kept finding himself in some way rooted to Bard; whether he was lending a pen, or watching him from across the library, waiting for the moment when their eyes would meet. He had shared his secrets, and his home, and a lot of his life with Bard, and he hadn’t done that with anyone for a very long time.

    At the heart of his exclusion, Thranduil simply didn’t feel deserving of Bard’s friendship. But when he saw Bard now, in aftermath of his own mistake, Thranduil wondered if Bard saw the situation in reverse.

    So where did that leave them? As friends in spite of their mutual self-loathing? Or would they never be more than what they thought they didn’t deserve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was amused to see that many people jumped immediately to the conclusion that Thranduil would be wary of Bard, or even scared of him, but that was never my intention at all, whether it's out of character or not...  
>   
> It was for a completely different reason, but I've been where Bard is and it was important for me to tell his side of the story, and how his mistake effects him, as well as others. I would never seek to justify any bad thing a person has done, but a mistake made in spite of a good heart can be a very damaging thing. The burden that comes with it is heavy, and there's no one to help you carry it, because it's something you have to do on your own. Even when other people have forgiven you, forgiving yourself is always the hardest part, and it's the part that hurts the most. Writing this chapter made me wish I'd had a friend like Thranduil when I needed it. I hope no one thinks I justified Bard's behaviour, or Thranduil's. I'll expand on their conversation (and Thranduil's birthday) in the next chapter, which will hopefully be soon.  
>   
> Until then, Thank you for reading, as always! Every reader warms my whole soul, I swear.


	12. friends and favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard is faced with a decision and Thranduil shares his thoughts

* * *

 

**Let’s say you’re still completely in the dark but we love you anyway. We love you. We really do.**

 

* * *

 

Bard was lying in bed, fiddling with his phone. It was acting up from receiving such an influx of messages at once, and no matter how much he restarted it, he couldn’t open any of them. Frustrated and defeated, he tossed it into a pile of clothes on the floor to let it (and himself) simmer down.

    There were so many things he wished he could say, but he knew words couldn’t heal the hurt that his fists had caused. How could Thranduil claim that no one hated him when Bard had seen the looks on their faces? There was no taking back what he’d done; there was too much to apologise for.

    He thought of his old friends, back in the city, still skulking in alleyways and shoplifting from convenience stores. They would have laughed it off, just like every other time, and celebrated Bard getting more days off school. They had never taken it seriously – these outbursts of his, breaking the surface and swallowing him whole – and Bard realised now how much they had exacerbated his temper by making him think it was okay. It wasn’t until he was expelled that he’d understood the severity of his behaviour.

    He had to admit, though, that Thranduil’s sympathy was already making it easier. Even if Bard didn’t believe him about how the other students felt, he had still come over to Bard’s house of his own accord, and there had been no fear in his eyes. It was enough to know that at least one person cared, even if he didn't deserve it.

    But Bard wasn’t sure it was enough to get him to go back. He liked school, but the thought of facing his peers again sent him into rigid shock. He had too many times been subjected to students skirting him in the corridors, or teachers treating every retort as detention-worthy. Bard wasn’t stupid enough to believe that wasn’t going to happen again.

    There was a knock on his door. Bard didn’t say anything, but it opened and his mother entered, looking a little nervous.

    “Dinner’s ready, if you want it, but your da’s in a bad mood,” she said.

    “When isn’t he in a bad mood?” Bard grumbled, sitting up and sneering.

    “He wants you to go to work with him, instead of school.”

    Bard pondered this for a long moment. He knew his mother would disapprove if he took this up, but it didn’t sound like a wholly bad idea. If he went to work, he could finally help out with the bills and save money. It made much more sense than screwing around with homework.

    “Sounds good,” he said.

    “I’d rather you didn’t,” Sian countered at once. “School is much more important.”

    “Aw, ma. When has school ever worked out for me? You weren’t even surprised when I said I got suspended.”

    “You just have to keep trying. I know you like school, and you finally have some good friends. You shouldn’t give all that up just because you’re too afraid to go back.”

    “But if I go to work with da, I can help earn some money. We need money,” Bard insisted.

    “This isn’t about us, Bard, it’s about you,” Sian said. “It’s important for you to finish school. You’re almost there.”

    “What’s the point in finishing school if I don’t know what I’m going to do after?” Bard said, starting to feel properly nettled now.

    His mother sighed, and Bard immediately wished he didn’t wear her down like that. He knew she wanted only the best for him, but he couldn’t help but get defensive. He just didn’t see why working wasn’t the better option here.

    “I guess it’s up to you,” she finally said. “But give it more thought, please.”

    She left the room, snapping the door shut as she went. Bard sank back against his pillows, now well and truly tired of people nagging him about what they thought was best. It seemed the general consensus was that he ought to go back to school when his suspension was over – and deep down Bard wanted that for himself – but there still that hard part of him that argued and deliberated and made it impossible to make up his mind. The logical answer was work, but the sensible answer was school, and no matter which he chose, there would be something for Bard to regret.

    He went to bed early that night, but not before he spent almost an hour trying to get his phone to work properly. He waded into the messages and other notifications, going through and deleting them. He wasn’t up to replying just yet, but he did read them. While their intentions were clearly to make him feel better, they only made him feel worse.

 

>     **Glorfindel** [9:32am]: You’re all clear to come to practice on Wednesdays! See you then?
> 
>     **Glorfindel** [3:01pm]: Hope you’re doing okay! P.E is wicked boring without you.
> 
>     **Glorfindel** [2:11am]: You awake? Wanna play a few rounds?
> 
>     **Ecthelion** [5:51pm]: I’m here if you need to talk.
> 
>     **Gil-Galad** [2:49pm]: I’ll take notes for you in math. We’re starting chapter 9. Chin up!
> 
>    **Thranduil** [3:23am]: Let me know if you need anything.
> 
>     **Nimrodel** [6:13pm]: Don’t you dare miss practice! We’re definitely going to beat Arnor with you on our team!
> 
>     **Celebrían** [8:26pm]: Mum told me what happened. She didn’t have a choice but to suspend you, but she really admires the way you handled everything. What you did for Niënor was so nice.
> 
>     **Beleg** [4:51pm]: Hope the folks aren’t giving you a hard time about getting suspended. If you need a place to crash, I’m here.
> 
>     **Finduilas** [9:32pm]: I’m so disappointed in you. Gwindor should have ended up in hospital. Hit him harder next time, okay? I’ll join in. Love you Bard xxxxxx.
> 
>     **Unknown Number** [7:08pm]: Hey Bard, it’s Niënor. Glorfindel gave me your number. I just wanted to say thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.

    Bard wasn’t sure how to reply to any of them even if he wanted to. He sent thanks to a couple of people, not keen to tell Glorfindel or Nimrodel that he wouldn’t likely come to practice. He replied to Thranduil with a rude emoji as proof that he’d checked his phone, but the rest he left alone. Niënor’s he deleted, because it felt like a blow to the stomach.   

 

    Bard’s plan for Saturday was to work with his dad. In the end, he settled for a middle-ground decision; if the work was okay and ultimately worth it, he’d drop school. If not, he’d go back. His mum still wasn’t entirely pleased, but she was prepared to let him choose.

    But when Bard woke on Saturday, he checked his phone, and suddenly was caught between two decisions again.

 

>     **Thranduil** [2:44am]: _Are you busy tomorrow? I kind of need a favour._

    Bard blinked blearily at the screen, rubbing his eyes of grit and sleep. He wondered what kind of favour Thranduil had thought of at three in the morning.

 

>     **What’s up?** he texted back.
> 
>     _Wow, you actually replied._
> 
>     _I’m going out to my old place today and… I don’t want to be alone. Come with?_

    Bard rolled onto his back, lifting his phone up as far as his arms would go. Thranduil was asking for help. How could he say no, after everything Thranduil had done for him?

    Bard figured he could always give work a try on Monday instead. 

 

>     **Sure. What time?**
> 
> _Around 9? I’ll pick you up._
> 
> _Thank you._

    Bard clicked his phone off and got out of bed. Downstairs, his mum was making coffee. Bard poured some for himself, yawning hugely, wishing he could go back to bed, but knowing there wasn’t much point.

    “Change of plan,” he told her. “Thranduil wants to hang out.”

    He noticed the relief spread across his mother’s face at once, but decided not to comment. He had breakfast, showered, dressed, and avoided his dad until he had left for work. A part of Bard was excited to see Thranduil, but it was not enough to outweigh the part that was dreading it. After their last conversation, he felt a rift had formed between them, but one he did not know how to repair.

    One thing he found curious, however, was Thranduil’s plan for the day. Going out to his old place meant he must finally own it, which meant he had turned eighteen at some point during Bard’s suspension.

    Thranduil had never mentioned when his birthday was, but Bard still felt abysmal that he had gone and screwed up during the birthday of a friend, which was supposed to be an exciting time.

    Bard was aware, however, that Thranduil was a private person, and therefore he probably wouldn’t have said anything regardless of Bard’s suspension. However an exciting time it was supposed to be, there was little doubt in his mind that Thranduil would have made any kind of deal about it.

    Bard grumbled over his second cup of coffee that morning, quietly simmering on the sofa in front of the morning cartoons, wishing he wasn’t quite so disappointing. His mother puttered around, dusting shelves and photo frames, and then sitting down to fold laundry.

    “You know, I really do like that Thranduil boy,” she said conversationally.

    Bard glanced sideways at her, slumping a little more down the sofa. “Yeah, he’s cool.”

    Of course, that wasn’t all Bard thought of Thranduil, but he wasn’t very well going to tell his mother the full extent of how he felt. That aside, it didn’t matter if Bard thought Thranduil was cute and kind and altogether breathtaking, because he didn’t stand chance with him anyway. Not now.

    When he heard a knock on the door, Bard sprang up to answer it. Thranduil stood on the threshold, dressed warmly in a jumper and jeans, his hair piled high in a messy bun. His nose was pink from the cold and there was, by some miracle Bard knew he didn’t deserve, a smile on his face.

    “Hey.”

    “Hey,” Bard returned breathlessly. Behind Thranduil, he spotted a familiar grocery truck parked on the side of the road. “Nice ride.”

    Thranduil gave the truck a brief turn of his head. “I’ll probably be picking up some stuff. Are you ready to go?”

    “Oh, yeah, let me just get my jacket.”

    Bard went back upstairs to his room, rummaging around the mess for his jacket. He slung it on, pocketing his phone, wallet, and house keys. When he returned to the door, Thranduil was inside the house, talking to Sian. They smiled warmly to one another.

    “Be safe on the road, won’t you?” Bard’s mother was saying. “It’s supposed to rain today.”

    “Yeah, I will, thanks,” said Thranduil.

    He waved goodbye to her and joined Bard at the door, car keys in hand. He exchanged a sheepish smile and led the way to the truck.

    “Did she say anything weird?” Bard asked, closing the front door behind them.

    “No,” said Thranduil. “She just said she’s glad I’m getting you out of the house.”

    “Oh.”

    It was true, Bard had barely left his room since getting suspended. The outside world felt hostile and unwelcoming, but somehow less so now that he was with Thranduil. Climbing into the truck and peering up at the clouded sky, Bard already felt better. Like he was breaking a fever.

     They drove out to the East Bite, where the trees met the mountains and rushing river, not talking much. The radio hummed between them, Pink Floyd and The Beatles. The window was rolled down just a crack, to let out the stuffiness.

    “It was your birthday, right?” Bard said after a while.

    Thranduil eyes flickered to Bard for a fraction of a second. “Last Saturday.”

    “Did you do anything?”

    “No. I spent the day signing forms and contracts, and then we had dinner.”

    “Are you officially in charge of your parents’ company now?” said Bard.

    “Kind of,” said Thranduil. “It was more complicated than we thought it was going to be, but that is essentially the case. Some of the legal stuff is still being sorted out, but they said I could finally have my old house back, so I thought I’d get that out of the way.”

    Thranduil turned into the same street the abandoned house was on, trundling passed the forest on the right side of the narrow strip of road. Bard remembered Thranduil saying his house was on the other side of the woods, and he expected Thranduil to turn into an ordinary road. However, almost on a whim, he veered off the main road and drove into the trees, through a partially hidden picket fence and up a winding, dirt path just large enough for a vehicle.

    “Oh, it’s one of _these_ houses,” Bard said.

    He rolled down his window and stuck his hand out to brush the branches of the trees they passed, the autumn leaves falling away to the ground already far behind them. It hadn’t started raining yet, but they were still damp from the previous day’s rain. Now that winter was nearly here, all it did was rain and rain and rain.

    The old house where Thranduil used to live was at the end of the road, tucked away in the back of the woods. Walled off and barred with a set of thick, wrought iron gates, it looked almost abandoned. Ivy had started to grow around the first story windows, several of which had been smashed and broken, and the grass was tall up to the knees. Flowers lay dead in their beds, and years of fallen leaves circled the many trees. The hedges, too, were unkempt and overgrown, and a fountain lay dormant in the centre, moss and algae smeared around its edges.

    The house – manor – itself was wide. Two storeys, with tall windows and chimneys sticking up here and there from the roof, which appeared to sport an attic, judging by the windows there as well. It was simple enough, and was perhaps once a beautiful house thanks to the garden that had surrounded it. But now it was just grey and sad, left behind to sit in so much tragedy.

    “It doesn’t look like there was a fire,” Bard observed as Thranduil parked the truck in front of the gates and they got out.

    “It was over there,” Thranduil explained, pointing to a far window on the right. “They managed to put it out before it spread too far or destroyed the actual building, but that part of the house is taped off.”

    “What rooms are there?” said Bard.

    For a moment, Thranduil did not speak. He took out a set of keys and unlocked the padlock on the gate, slinking out the chain noisily. He tossed it onto the ground and together he and Bard pushed the gate open. It whined and squeaked on its hinges, so many years had it been since it was moved.

    “A study,” Thranduil finally said, “and my parent’s bedroom.”

    Bard wished at once that he hadn’t asked.

    They left the truck outside the gate for the time being and walked up the path leading to the front stone steps. Bard kept sneaking glances at Thranduil, trying to judge his expressions and behaviour. But he remained calm and impassive, looking for the right key that would open the manor.

    It took him a while. He even dropped the keys once, but Bard didn’t comment. It wasn’t his place to intrude upon the trauma of others, especially when one hid it as well as Thranduil did. Bard thought it must be hard for Thranduil, to come here after all these years and feel the raw memory contained inside. No matter how unsure and ashamed Bard felt about himself, he had to remember that Thranduil had asked him – no one else – to come to the manor, and Bard had to provide the support that was requested of him.

    They finally found their way inside. The entrance was wide and welcoming, with a staircase winding off to the right. The wall along it was decked with portraits and photographs of family. Thranduil glanced at them, but turned his back and went through a door to the left.

    Everything was dusty, and every corner had a cobweb. Years of neglect and solitude had left the manor in a permanently eerie state; bordering on haunted. It felt as though it had never been lived in at all. Just set up with furniture for lost ghosts and the unmentioned.

    Through the left was a parlour, its chairs and bookshelves and antique sofas thick with dust. A piano sat in the corner by the window, looking out onto the backyard, which was in the same, sad state as the front. Trees and bushes were overwhelming the smaller flowers and shrubs, and far across the grass, a duck pond was thick with green.

    Thranduil was strangely ghostlike himself as they wandered through the house, his face pale and his shoulders rigid. He picked up things here and there – books left abandoned on the coffee table, a half-drunk glass of wine which was black and toxic-looking. Bard knew Thranduil had been telling the truth when he claimed to not regret his parent’s death, but there was still something in his eyes that contradicted this. Thranduil had lived here, once, and had a family, however broken. You couldn’t come back to what was left and not feel all the pain again.

    On from the parlour was a kitchen, open and topped with granite counters. Thranduil paused here, chewing his lip. He approached the pantry door and opened it.

    “Figures,” he sighed.

    Bard walked up behind him to see what was inside, and he couldn’t help but make a disgusted noise. Rats had invaded the cupboard, though they were no longer around, and all the food had been chewed through and eaten.

    “Why didn’t anyone throw out all the food? I mean, you can’t just leave a house to fend for itself,” Bard said, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

    Thranduil shut the cupboard. “My parents were odd people. They requested no one touch or enter the house in the event of their death until I was of age.”

    “That sounds like they knew they were going to die,” Bard said.

    “That’s probably true. My parents had a reason for everything they did, though they never confided in me. I don’t care about what they did or why.”

    Thranduil moved on from the kitchen, and they circled back around to the foyer, where the second storey loomed ominously at them.

    “Why did you really come here? Why did you ask me with you?” said Bard.

    Thranduil looked at him, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I don’t know. Maybe just to… feel something again. I knew I couldn’t come alone, but Oropher refused, and Legolas will get too badly triggered to come back so soon. I thought it would be easiest if you came, since you’ve never been here before.”

    It felt like he hadn’t said everything he’d wanted to, but Bard didn’t press for more.

    “Are you going to go up there?” he asked instead, inclining his head to the stairs.

    “I left a lot of things in my room,” Thranduil explained absently.

    He made a start on the stairs, Bard close behind. He examined the pictures on the wall at he went; decades of family on display. There were many pictures of Thranduil, all of them very formal, except for one. Bard couldn’t help but take down the photograph of a young Thranduil and Legolas, who was still a baby. Legolas was smiling, sitting on his brother’s lap, holding a stuffed bear while Thranduil pulled a funny expression. His hair was cropped very short and he looked a little uncanny to Bard. But he was happy.

    The wreckage from the fire was contained to the far right of the top floor. On one side, the landing was bright and sunny, lit up by the windows and white wallpaper. On the other, everything was charred black and turned to charcoal, blocked off with security tape. There was a fallen bookshelf on the ground, reduced almost to ash.

    Thranduil stared at the black part of the house for a long time, and though Bard tried to be nondescript, he did notice a tear fall to the floor at Thranduil’s feet.

    “You blame yourself, don’t you?” Bard whispered.

    Thranduil sniffed, wiping his eyes quickly. “What makes you say that?”

    Bard considered his answer for a moment. “Call it the intuition of the similarly guilty.”

    “I guess I do, in a way,” Thranduil said slowly. “The fire wasn’t my fault, but perhaps I could have saved them.”

    “But how?”

    Thranduil pointed to the bookshelf on the floor. “It fell. I don’t know how. The fire must have weakened its support. It blocked the door to my parent’s bedroom and stopped them from getting out. I could have moved it – could have helped – but I just left them there.”

    Bard didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what there possibly was to say in response to something like that.

    “It doesn’t matter now,” Thranduil said, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t dwell on the past.”

    “At least you and your brother got out safely,” Bard attempted to reason.

    Thranduil smiled at this. “He was my first priority when I heard the alarm go off. To be honest, I barely gave mum and dad a second thought.”

    “What caused the fire?”

    “A chemical leak. The study next door was where my dad worked and he obviously did a stupid experiment. Serves him right, I suppose.”

    Bard paled. “How can you be so heartless about it?”

    He didn’t meant to say it so heartlessly himself, but Thranduil’s indifference sometimes caught Bard off guard.

    Thranduil finally looked away from the wreckage and met Bard’s eye. “I didn’t know my parents. They were strangers.”

    He turned his back on the bedroom and walked down the corridor to another door. Bard took a breath, collected his bearings, and followed.

    Thranduil’s old room was strikingly different to his current one. It felt impersonal and empty. The bed was still rumpled from being slept in and hastily vacated, and the desk was littered with papers and pens – old homework and notepads. Otherwise, there was very little inside. No photos or plants or knick-knacks. Just a room with some furniture.

    There were a lot of bookshelves, however, all crammed to bursting with books. Thranduil seemed to perk up, ever-so-slightly, and he went over to them, taking a book down and wiping the dust off it.

    “I wish I could take these, but we don’t have any room for them at Oropher’s,” he said.

    Bard joined Thranduil and took a book down as well.

    “ _The Odyssey_ ,” he read. “Were you ever not a nerd?”

    Thranduil rolled his eyes. “You can have some of these, if you like. Feel free to take whatever, actually.”

    Bard cocked his head to the side. “But this is your stuff.”

    “I don’t really want a lot of it.”

    They drifted about the old manor for a long time, their hands dirty from the dust and sticky from cobwebs. Thranduil did not look to be enjoying himself, but Bard couldn’t help but wonder at all the memories and strange objects the house held. It was like walking through a museum of curious trinkets and expensive furniture, and china that wasn’t even used for special occasions.

    Thranduil moved the truck closer to the door and together he and Bard started bringing out what they were taking. They found some boxes and packed them with books, kitchenware, wine that had been aging in a cellar, a few photographs, two cameras, and other assorted items. They also took a space heater, an armchair, a lamp, Thranduil’s old desk, the television from the sitting room, some gardening tools, a ladder, a bathroom mirror, a chest of drawers, and two bookshelves. In addition to all this, Thranduil forced upon Bard an old gramophone and a box of vinyls, for Bard had been unable to take his eyes off them for most of the day.

    By the time they were done, it was well passed midday and Bard was starving. They locked up the manor, got back into the truck, and headed to town for some lunch.

    “I’m surprised everything was still in there,” Bard remarked as they drove down the main road. “You’d think a house like that would have been ransacked.”

    “It’s heavily secured,” Thranduil explained. “There were couple of break in’s – you probably saw the smashed windows – but the police always get there before anyone can take anything. After a while, word got around and no one bothered with it.”

    “Thanks again for the gramophone,” Bard said.

    Thranduil smiled. “It’s okay.”

    They parked outside a café just as it started to rain. Hurrying inside, they both ordered coffee and pastries and sat down by the window. The rain lashed angrily. A waitress came and brought their food and for a while, Bard and Thranduil sat in silence. It was too easy, to absorb each other’s quiet. It was comfortable.

    “Are you going to be there for the match next week?” Thranduil suddenly said. “Glorfindel’s freaking out that you’re not coming to practice. I mean, I know you said you didn’t want to go back, but…”

    Bard slumped in his chair. “I don’t know.”

    “He’s really counting on you.”

    “Yeah,” Bard grumbled. “But, I kind of thought I’d go to work with my dad.”

    Thranduil raised an eyebrow at this, and Bard was reminded very strongly and irritably of his mother. “Instead of school?”

    “Yeah.”

    Thranduil said nothing else, but tapped a finger on his chin absently, staring out the window.

    “What?” demanded Bard, for he had been expecting a lecture. Thranduil was never afraid to share his thoughts, after all, so what made this so different?

    “Nothing. It’s just…” he trailed off, looking uncharacteristically puzzled.

    “Just what?”

    “I’d miss you.”

    Struck a little dumb, Bard had to take several moments to recollect himself. He disappeared behind his mug for a moment, his heart turning over. It felt like he’d been punched again.

    “I’m just trying to do what’s best,” he finally said, attempting to adjust the mood a little. Thranduil had never been _that_ honest before. It unnerved Bard a little, but also warmed him.

    “Maybe facing your mistake is what’s best,” Thranduil suggested.

    Bard shrugged a shoulder “I only know how to run away.”

    They finished eating and Thranduil took Bard back home, the rain coming down harder than ever. He left the truck with the gramophone and vinyls, trying to get one last look at Thranduil before he drove away. But the windows were up and the rain made it hard to see, and Bard did wonder when he would meet Thranduil again. If Bard didn’t go back to school, would they still be friends?

    In his room, Bard dug through his textbooks to find the picture of Thranduil he had stolen. He wondered if Thranduil had noticed it was missing. If he did, he hadn’t said anything. Bard looked at it for a while, as if trying to compensate for not getting that last glance. But it wasn’t the same in a picture; it didn’t give Bard the same feeling.

    Was he brave enough to face his mistakes if it meant Thranduil would still be around? Bard wasn’t sure how much more he could take where his regrets were concerned. He had collected too many and carried them too far.

    But he’d never had someone willing enough to see passed all that. Thranduil didn’t condemn Bard for the trouble he caused or the anger he shouldered. Bard realised how desperately he had needed someone like that, even if it didn’t provide the desired result. He was still uncertain and doubtful, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful for Thranduil’s determination and gentle pushes. It felt good to be cared for, even though he was in the wrong. 

    But, in the end, how could he force himself into the lives of those who would be better off without him? It just wasn’t practical when his friends were good people, and he was the way that he was. Bard wasn’t about to justify his actions and pretend he was kind-hearted and decent. What he wanted didn’t matter; what mattered was that he didn’t hurt anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, another update! I'm sorry that chapters aren't as consistent as they were before, but they will keep coming. I've kind of been struggling with my mental health and motivation lately, and I'm going through video game withdrawals almost constantly, so I'm trying to fight that lol.
> 
> A few of you were curious as to what Thranduil did, but it's more what he didn't do that is where his regret stems from, I think. I had to do a bit of tweaking on his part, trying to properly order his backstory. Speaking of backstories, those are all out of the way now I think, and I'm excited to move forward a lot more now that things are happening a bit. I have plans for the next chapter, so hopefully it won't be too long before I update again :)  
>   
> Thanks again for reading and commenting!


	13. pinky swears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is given a task, Bard makes a decision, and Ecthelion speaks his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small time jump, since it's long overdue. Thank you all for your comments and kudos, I hope you like the chapter!

* * *

  

**You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.**

 

* * *

 

Snow arrived in the third week of December. Not proper snow, not really. Just frost in the mornings, and sometimes snowfall at night. It coated the ground on the way to school, and made the roads slippery and dangerous, but it usually melted by the afternoon.

    This did mean it was cold, however, and the students at Rhovanion were layering on their uniforms, even going so far as to wear casual clothes underneath, despite the cost of getting written up for incorrect school wear by teachers who cared.

    Even Thranduil was not so proper as to regret wearing a hoodie underneath his school jumper, lifting up the hood every time he had to go outside to his next class. He liked the cold well enough, but having frozen fingers when he was trying to take notes for class was never enjoyable. Only half the classrooms had heating, and teachers were close to brawling with each other in the corridors in order to claim them.

    For the first time in a long time, Thranduil was looking forward to the holidays. The past month had been hard and quiet, what with Bard refusing to come to school, and Thranduil feeling more than a little lonely for it. There was still Glorfindel to keep him company during break, and sometimes Egalmoth and Ecthelion too. But for reasons Thranduil couldn’t explain, school just wasn’t the same if Bard wasn’t there.

    Glorfindel had taken Bard’s absence very hard. Rhovanion had lost the football match against Arnor, and the team had been in low spirits for quite a while. Glorfindel had allegedly stormed over to Bard’s house to yell at him, but he hadn’t been there. Working, his mother said, and wouldn’t be back until the evening. Whether Glorfindel ever did confront Bard about ditching school, he never breathed a word, and instead went about drilling one of the substitutes for the match against Rhûn, which they mercifully won on the Saturday before the last week of school.

    Thranduil was disappointed that Bard had chosen work over school – work over his friends, it seemed.

    “He never says much when I do talk to him,” Egalmoth was explaining on Tuesday during lunch.

    Glorfindel nodded in support. “Yeah, he’s always sleeping. I guess work really tires him out.”

    “Did you ask him what kind of work he’s doing?” Egalmoth said.

    “He he fixes stuff,” Glorfindel replied with a shrug. “Machines and cars or whatever.”

    “Hey, speaking of cars, aren’t you picking up yours today, Thranduil?” Glorfindel asked, turning to him.

    “This afternoon,” Thranduil said with a nod.

    “Now that you’re driving, you’ll give me lifts to school, right?”

    Thranduil rolled his eyes. “You live on the other side of town.”

    Glorfindel groaned. “You're just like Egalmoth. Neither of you even come close to behaving like decent friends.”

    “Hey, here’s a crazy idea!” Egalmoth sang. “Why not get your license? Then you can drive yourself around!”

    Glorfindel pointed a finger threateningly at Egalmoth, his eyes bugging out. “Driving is terrifying, and I don’t understand road rules.”

    “Yeah, he’d total the car on his first attempt,” Thranduil said seriously.

    “You know what?” Glorfindel huffed. “You’re both basic, and I don’t need either of you. I’ll just take the bus with the rest of the peasants.”

    “Glorfindel, you’re one of the richest kids here,” said Egalmoth.

    “Mum and dad are stingy, though,” Glorfindel sulked.

    The bell rang for last period and the three boys left the cafeteria, braving the icy wind outside. Thranduil hurried to the Science building for Environmental Science, praying Aredhel didn’t have plans to subject them to any outdoor activities.

    At his locker at the end of the day, Thranduil was approached by Nellas. It seemed she only ever needed him when there was a manila folder to be given to a certain someone. Thranduil shut his locker as she neared him, smiling lightly.

    “I don’t know what to tell you, Miss,” he said. “He hasn’t been to school for weeks.”

    Nellas sighed. “I’ve tried everything. You’re the last person I can think to send who might convince him to come back.”

    “Ecthelion did say you had a list,” Thranduil said. “But I don’t see why I’m on it at all.”

    “You’re my final option. The desperate measure.” Nellas said this with much gusto, raising a fist in determination, her glasses slipping down her nose. She paused, pushing them up with a finger and clearing her throat distractedly. “Bard listens to you.”

    “I already tried talking to him. Besides, isn’t it a bit too late for him to come back now?”

    “Not quite. I thought I’d give him one last push while there’s still time to catch up. If he works hard over Christmas break, he’ll be back on track for Third Term.”

    “I don’t like your chances,” Thranduil said sceptically.

    “I care about the students I am charged with,” Nellas said simply. “Bard hasn’t been expelled or removed from school by his parents, so that means I’ll keep trying.”

    She handed over the folder and Thranduil took it, feeling uncertain. Unlike the others, he had barely spoken to Bard since their trip to the manor. Thranduil was never one for initiating conversation, and apparently neither was Bard, and so they were at an impasse. In such a situation as they were in, Thranduil doubted he would be able to get Bard to come back to school, even though he wanted that to happen more than anyone else.

    “I’ll do what I can, but I don’t think it will change anything,” he said.

    “You’re all I have left. If you can’t change his mind, nothing will.”

   

    According to Glorfindel, Bard didn’t get home from work until five thirty, at the earliest. This gave Thranduil plenty of time to pick up his new car.

    He was excited. Driving was a big deal out in the suburbs. Despite the buses being consistently unreliable, very few teenagers drove. Those who were willing usually had no means to buy their own car, whereas those who could afford to didn’t see the need to drive, able to be chauffeured anywhere they wanted.  

    This left Thranduil in the small group of people under the age of twenty-five who could drive _and_ afford a car. He had promised himself not to overextend on the price of his first vehicle, but he hadn’t been able to resist the prospect of being able to buy whatever he wanted. The interest that his parents’ bank accounts had claimed over the past two years alone was enough to cover the cost. Oropher disapproved because the car was expensive _and_ old, but one raised eyebrow from Thranduil concerning an aged Toyota in the garage had silenced him. In any case, Thranduil’s car was modified to be safer. Oropher’s was just rusty.

    The person who currently owned Thranduil’s car lived out in the northern suburbs, not too far from Celebrían’s house. Thranduil had to catch two buses and walk a nearly mile just to get there, shivering in his school shoes. He went up to the door of a small manor, his first ever cheque in hand. His new car was waiting in the driveway, freshly washed with the convertible roof up. He couldn’t help but smile.

    He handed the cheque over to the man and they signed the transfer forms, double checking everything was in order. Then, Thranduil was given the keys. He got into his new car and drove to Bard’s house.

    He pulled into the side of the road, taking deep breaths. It had been a month since they had last seen each other, and Thranduil felt that month heavily on his chest. Like a wound he couldn’t put pressure on.

    He grabbed the manila folder containing Bard’s homework and went up to the door, knocking as confidently as he could. His heart was beating unusually fast. Was it the leftover adrenaline from driving? No, it had to be something else…

    Bard answered the door after several seconds. Thranduil noticed at once that he looked different; he had grown a little (but so had Thranduil), and his hair was cut short at the back, leaving the top long and messy, curling at the ends. He was also… less lanky.

    He smiled as soon as he saw Thranduil, leaning against the frame of the door and crossing his arms. “I see Nellas has sent another lackey,” he said.

    Thranduil couldn’t find it in him to retort. His heartbeat had somehow quickened between knocking on the door and seeing Bard’s face. His cheeks were flushed. It was freezing out, yet he was too hot in his layers of clothes.

    “Holy shit, is that your car?”

    Relieved to have a distraction from Bard, Thranduil turned away from him to look back at the car.

    “Yeah, I just picked it up.”

    Bard brushed passed Thranduil and jumped over the front gate eagerly, approaching the vehicle to peer inside. Thranduil followed, feeling a little embarrassed.

    Bard stood back, evidently impressed “Mercedes, huh? What year is it?”

    “Nineteen-eighty-two,” Thranduil answered. “Do – do you want to go for a ride?”

    “Shit yeah! Let me just put shoes on.”

    Bard disappeared into the house while Thranduil moved his schoolbag to the boot of his car to free the only other passenger seat. It felt oddly satisfying to gain Bard’s approval. Thranduil wanted him to like the things that he liked.

    It started to rain as they drove out from the street, the water catching the headlights on the dark road. Thranduil was tired of the rain, but Bard didn’t seem to mind it. He rolled the window down and stuck his hand out to catch the drops, just like last time. 

    They went to a local diner for some coffee and hot chips to warm them up. Bard’s presence felt normal, and Thranduil almost forgot how much time had passed since his suspension. He was bright and easy, and Thranduil felt breathless, like he was falling for Bard all over again.

    He wasn’t prepared to admit that he liked Bard – not in that way, whatever way it was supposed to be called. Thranduil was convinced he was just a little enamoured, if not completely attached. He was perfectly aware of how it felt to fancy someone, and this wasn’t it. He wasn’t sure exactly _what_ it was, but he definitely didn’t like Bard. No way.

    “I heard we won against Rhûn last week,” Bard was saying, shaking an excessive amount of chicken salt onto their chips. “Glorfindel sounded bitter, though.”

    “You can hardly blame him when he’s been robbed of his best striker,” Thranduil reasoned. “Your replacement just isn’t up to your standard, I think.”

    “I’m sure they’ll do fine without me,” Bard said.

    “But they’d win with you,” said Thranduil.

    Bard looked up at Thranduil through his lashes, seeing straight through the (very poor) façade. But Thranduil wasn’t trying to be subtle about why he was there. They both knew he had to try and get Bard to come back to school, so there was no point in smoke and mirrors. After so many attempts by Bard’s other friends, Thranduil knew it was up to him to play the long game. He’d already texted Oropher that he’d be home late, because it didn’t matter how long it would take for him to win Bard over.

    Of course, Thranduil already had, he just didn’t know it. He never really put together why it had been so easy to convince Bard.

    “Nellas says you can still come back,” he said, deciding to get to the point while it was already in the open. “You can catch up on everything you’ve missed over break.”

    Bard chewed his lip for a moment. “I like working.”

    “Really?”

    He didn’t reply this time. Thranduil could tell something was up. Bard didn’t seem himself; he didn’t feel entirely there. Glorfindel said he slept a lot, but the dark circles under his eyes indicated otherwise.

    “I wouldn’t be able to catch up even if I wanted to,” he said. “I’ve missed too much.”

    “I could help you,” Thranduil said at once. “I’m ahead on most of my subjects. I won’t have much homework for break.”

    “Why do you study so hard?” Bard laughed

    “It… keeps me occupied,” Thranduil said dismissively. "Besides, you haven't been around to annoy me."

    Bard almost looked smug when he heard this, but he didn't relent. "Still, it's not fair for you to always help me when I don't do anything in return."

    “I don’t do it to get something in return,” Thranduil said with a frown. “And you have helped me.”

    “Oh, yeah? How?”

    This time, it was Thranduil’s turn to say nothing. Not because he didn’t have evidence, but because Bard had helped him in a way he could never admit. He had been his friend.

    “I just think you should reconsider what you’re doing. Do you really want to be working in a factory forever?” Thranduil said.

    Bard shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

    “You can’t lie to me, Bard.”

    Bard smiled at this, weakly, admitting defeat. He vanished behind his mug for a moment.

    “I don’t know if I can.”

    “Everyone really misses you,” Thranduil insisted.

    Bard set his mug down, fixing Thranduil with a blazing look. “Even you?”

    Thranduil might have said “especially me.” He wanted to. The words were on his lips, wrapping around his heart and throat. But they didn’t come. He simply stared at Bard, taking in his entirety; the curls in his hair, his long eyelashes, the hole in his ear where he used to have an earring. Thranduil wished things were simpler between them. He wished he could be honest when he needed to be. To Bard, and to himself.

    He finally managed to say; “Literature is boring without you.”

    Bard seemed to take it for the answer he wanted. He smiled again.

    “I guess I have been thinking about it – going back, that is. Work is easy, and it’s nice to have something to do with my hands, but –”

    He trailed off, staring into his coffee mug. Thranduil watched, waiting for Bard to come to the end by himself.

    “I just don’t people to be scared of me again,” he said, backpedalling. “That’s what happened at my old school. I spent most of my time alone because no one but my deadbeat friends wanted to be around me.”

    “It won’t be like that this time,” Thranduil assured. “I mean, look at everyone who’s asked you to come back. No one’s scared of you.”

    “I guess. I still feel pretty shit about what I did,” Bard mumbled.

    “Well, Gwindor hasn’t taken it too personally, if it helps. He keeps mostly to himself now. If anyone’s scared of you, it’ll be him, and rightly so,” Thranduil said.

    Bard hummed a laugh. “That asshole. He reminded me of my old friends from Laketown; always picking on people and acting tough. I heard he was supposed to marry Finduilas or something?”

    “Rich people,” Thranduil said, rolling his eyes. “Always looking to make good connections.”

    “But isn’t she gay?”

    Thranduil shrugged.

    The conversation fell short here, and for a while Bard and Thranduil ate in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. It was fully dark now, and the rain was still coming down, dotting the windows heavily. Thranduil watched passing cars blur under the street lamps. He took a photo, and then returned his attention to Bard, decided it was time to push him a little more.

    “How about it?”

    Bard screwed up his face. “You’re really determined, aren’t you?”

    Thranduil was surprised at his own smile. “Yeah, I am.”

    “Swear you’ll help me, then?”

    “Pinky Swear,” said Thranduil said, holding out his finger.

    Bard hesitated for half a second, but joined their fingers together.

 

    Bard returned to school on Thursday, but only to visit the Senior Co-Ordinator. Nellas was so stunned to see him, she looked as though someone had slapped her. She found Thranduil after his morning Global Politics class, glasses slipping down her nose.

    “I should have sent you first,” she said exasperatedly. “How did you do it?”

    “We just talked,” Thranduil said honestly. “He’d been thinking about for a while.”

    “Well, thank you. You did a good thing, Thranduil.”

    Thranduil spotted Bard in the cafeteria afterwards, wearing casual clothes and surrounded by what looked like half the football team, and some stragglers. Glorfindel was whooping, his hair all about his face in excitement. Niënor was hugging Bard tightly. It felt like they’d just won a game.

    Ecthelion waved Thranduil over, smiling.

    “You convinced him, huh?” he said.

    “I guess I did,” said Thranduil, watching Bard get pummelled by Egalmoth.

    “Not going to boast?” said Ecthelion.

    “It was always going to be his choice, in the end. But I’m glad to have helped.”

    “You like him right?”

    Thranduil’s gaze slipped, falling to the ground. There was still some frost left over on the patch of grass by his feet. His heart was hammering enough to deafen him.

    “I see how you look at him,” Ecthelion continued quietly. “You’ve never looked at anyone like that.”

    Thranduil steadied himself, looking back at Ecthelion. “We’re just friends.”

    Ecthelion's smile broadened “So are me and Glorfindel.”

    Thranduil didn’t answer, knowing Ecthelion would only rile him up if he did. He didn’t know how to answer, anyway. Did he like Bard? Was he deluding himself by saying he didn’t? Thranduil couldn’t tell if the swelling feeling in his chest was temporary or not. All feelings were, after all, a temporary reaction to stimulus. But what if it was the kind of temporary that was permanent? What if that was something Thranduil wanted?

    His instinct was to ignore it. The entire concept was nonsense and he wanted no part of it. Even if there was the slightest chance of something happening between them, Thranduil just didn’t have time to like a boy, even if that boy was Bard. He had to study hard and graduate, and then get into a good university. He couldn’t afford to jeopardize that for the sake of a relationship that wouldn’t see the next winter.

    And that was if Bard liked him back. There was still that to take into consideration.

    And yet Ecthelion’s words were haunting. Thranduil couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of having both – of having it all. He always limited himself – afraid to overextend his own capabilities – but in this way he didn’t know what his real limitations were. Could he stretch himself enough to admit to liking Bard? Would it even be that far of a stretch? Did he really have to choose between his head and his heart for the rest of his life?

    The idea of it nagged him throughout the week and into the start of winter break, where Thranduil found himself on Bard’s bedroom floor, listening to The Smiths on his parent’s old gramophone. Bard was wading through the books and pens scattered around them on the carpet to find the reading material for Literature.

    “What was next?” he asked.

    “Rimbaud,” said Thranduil.

    “I like poetry,” Bard said. “It’s easier to read because the text isn’t so condensed.”

    He reached across and grabbed the book he needed from a pile near the bed. Thranduil wasn’t really listening. He sat quite still, running his thumb repeatedly across the pages of his own copy of Rimbaud.

    Then, there was a hand waving in front of his face, and his eyes shifted back into focus.

    “Are you okay?” Bard said.

    “Yeah,” Thranduil replied. “Just… thinking.”

    Bard frowned, cocking his head slightly to one side. Thranduil didn’t like the way Bard was always trying to read him, and he especially didn’t like that he usually could.

    “Maybe we should take a break. Are you hungry?”

    “Sure.”

    They didn’t move. Bard was sitting right in front of Thranduil now, and their knees were touching.

    For once, Thranduil didn’t really mind, so he leaned in a bit more and kissed Bard.   

    It wasn’t impulse that made him do it – not entirely. Thranduil just wanted to know how it felt.

    He liked Bard’s sharp intake of breath, and the way his hands automatically found his cheekbones and hair, pulling Thranduil a little closer, their noses bumping. He could feel the coarseness of Bard’s jumper sleeve against his neck, and he liked that too.

    Thranduil still couldn’t describe how it felt, though he knew he liked it. Eyes closed, their knees touching, and the careful quirk in Bard’s mouth that meant he was smiling; it brought the whole world to a standstill. For a moment, it might even have been enough to change Thranduil’s mind.

    But, after a while, he pulled away and said,

    “Sorry. Can we pretend I didn’t do that?”  

    Bard blinked several times, still registering that they had stopped kissing. “Huh?”

    “Do you want to get some food?”

    “Um. Okay.”

    They stood up and went downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going 2 fling myself into the sun


	14. the delinquent and the doofus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil keeps his promise, Heathcliff is the worst, and Bard doesn't like being alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several links:  
> [Thranduil's car](https://imganuncios.mitula.net/1981_mercedes_benz_380sl_in_auburn_wa_9000073477007624050.jpg)  
> [Playlist](http://suan.fm/mix/G-Wb3uK)  
> [Timetables](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1O342kOlEkWg7H9Y1H7tmlelOfSGWZQ2tDXS3fvhKD2E/edit?usp=sharing)  
> [Drabble](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1__7_6Wa-ZxwzV5Uow7_rR_lEerYMPLjz1V1fKNu2KiE/edit?usp=sharing) for Glorfindel & Ecthelion (new!)  
>   
> This chapter is kind of all over the place because I had to kind of power through three weeks worth of stuff. And I know it sucks when writers do that, but trust me, it was needed here, because nothing happens until the end of the school break so it would have killed me to do day-to-day stuff. On that note, I made the break 3 weeks instead of 2 just... because I can. I didn't like that school was supposed to start on the 2nd of Jan, so I stretched it out a bit more.  
> Anyway, thank you all again for reading and commenting! I hope you enjoy the update! I have just under a month left of my own school break, so I'm going to try and update weekly until then. Thanks again!

* * *

 

**Tell me you love this, tell me you’re not miserable.**

 

* * *

 

Bard didn’t want to pretend. Pretending was for children and the delusional, and he wasn’t either. He wasn’t going to pretend he couldn’t feel the pace of his heart quicken at the thought of what had happened on his bedroom floor. He wasn’t going to pretend he couldn’t feel the softness of Thranduil’s hair every time he looked down at his hands.

    That said, he was doubtful it had happened at all. The kiss, that is. Bard was half-convinced he dreamed it. But surely no dream could have such an imprint on his mouth; leaving it like it wasn’t even his own anymore, or leaving him like he no longer belonged to it.

    Bard’s instinct was to chase after Thranduil – literally, or hypothetically, he wasn’t too concerned – but he knew chasing would only make Thranduil run. There was still a distinct barrier between Thranduil’s feelings and his actions, and Bard wasn’t going to break it before it had a chance to come down.

    He had to stay true to his word, though it had never been spoken. Thranduil was evidently under the impression he’d made a mistake, and if Bard was in any way responsible for that mistake, then so be it. Thranduil was first and foremost his friend, and he couldn't  jeopardise that friendship for the sake of a crush, even if it was more than just that

    They continued studying, the two of them, holed up in Bard’s bedroom with a space heater and a hundred books. Thranduil seemed to excel at acting like nothing had happened. Bard wondered if this was how Glorfindel felt when Ecthelion refused to face the truth.

    But Bard couldn’t stop himself from sneaking glances and finding excuses to touch Thranduil. It was innocent and half the time he didn’t even notice he was doing it, but it helped ease the dull ache in his chest. It wasn’t Thranduil’s fault that Bard was incapable of keeping his feelings to himself, but he had to admit he was a little angry about the kiss. You couldn’t just go around kissing people, thinking it won’t mean anything. It meant the world to Bard.

    Somehow, they worked passed it, and eventually Bard forgot the feel of Thranduil’s hair, and he forgot the quiet sound he’d made when their lips had met. It didn’t matter if Bard fell in love with Thranduil all the time, because Thranduil clearly wasn’t interested.

    Between studying and avoiding each other's eye, Christmas came. It snowed, and Bard and Thranduil took a well-deserved break from homework, and from each other. Bard liked Thranduil, but seeing him in such a capacity was starting to take its toll. Bard was looking forward to some distance, hoping to clear his head.

    Everyone was spending the holiday with their families, Bard included. With just his mum and dad to celebrate, their day was quiet and, despite his need for separation, he went over to Thranduil’s house during to give him a present.

    He had thought long and hard about what to buy. Bard felt the need to make up for missing Thranduil’s birthday, and to thank him for helping with the impossible task of completing his homework. He had been determined to find something absolutely perfect with the money he’d saved (and kept) from working. And, after hours of listless shopping and browsing the internet, he was convinced he had in fact found the perfect thing.  

     It was old – hell, as far as Bard was concerned, it was ancient – but he’d found it online with a carry case and packs of film. He had even tested it to see if it worked, and it did. But the real test was giving it to Thranduil, and hoping he’d like it.

    It snowed especially heavily that weekend of Christmas – the first, proper snow that winter, everyone was saying – and Bard braving the icy streets to Thranduil’s house, layered in jumpers and wearing his Doc Martins to keep out the slush and cold. He tried to hurry, but was afraid to slip, and so the walk took a lot longer than he’d expected. By the time he arrived at Thranduil’s house, his cheeks and nose were pink with near-frostbite.

    Thranduil opened the door almost as soon as Bard knocked. The first thing Bard noticed was the unexpectedly hideous Christmas sweater he was wearing.

    “Say nothing. I was forced into it,” he said at once, looking nettled.

    Bard grinned. “It’s – uh – it’s nice.”

    It was atrocious, and yet Thranduil was still beautiful. His hair was up, out of his face, and his eyes were bright with what Bard suspected was a touch of alcohol. They were crystallised blue.

    “Did you walk here?" Thranduil said. "You’re crazy. I could have picked you up.”

    “Well, your car looks a little occupied,” Bard contested, indicating the Mercedes in the driveway, capped in snow and loose leaves.

    Thranduil stepped aside to let Bard in. He stamped his feet on the mat and then took off his shoes. It was mercifully warm inside, so he took off his beanie, scarf, gloves, and coat too.

    “Merry Christmas,” he said, handing over the gift.

    “Oh, I got you something too,” Thranduil said, taking it and smiling widely.

   He led Bard through the house and into the joint living-and-dining area. The Christmas tree was lit up in the corner, surrounded by torn wrapping paper and toys. Oropher was sitting on the sofa, wearing a sweater that was somehow uglier than Thranduil’s and drinking a very full glass of eggnog.

    “The delinquent is here,” he said, turning around to face Bard, eyeing him beadily. “You know, I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that. I want to know your fighting technique. I mean, are you using the heel of your hand or are you just going in for knuckle-destruction? I’m actually concerned you’ll break your hand if you’re reckless about your punches.”

    Bard opened his mouth to reply, but no words came to him.

    “I’m pretty sure he’s got his knuckle safety covered,” Thranduil stepped in. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against him, anyway, so don't go trying anything.”

    Oropher nodded solemnly. “True. Raising children has made me soft, and I’m not ashamed of that.”

    “He’s drunk,” Thranduil said to Bard, digging around through the scattered wrapping paper. “Ignore him.”

    His hands emerged victorious with a still-wrapped present. He gave it to Bard. Their fingers brushed.

    “You didn’t get me anything expensive, did you?” Bard grumbled. His thoughts went to the gramophone in his bedroom, and the hours they had already spent that winter break studying next to it.

    Thranduil laughed. “No. Just something small.”

    Evidently Thranduil had a different idea of what ‘small’ meant, because the gift was still on the large-side of things. Bard unwrapped it hesitantly, feeling undeserving of it.

    It was a pair of headphones – the expensive kind, of course. Bard frowned at them.

    “Really?”

    “Sorry. I went overboard this year,” Thranduil admitted sheepishly. “But you listen to good music, and I thought it was a shame that you have bad headphones.”

    Bard laughed at this, and his heart soared a little – more than a little. Thranduil liked his taste in music.

    He set the headphones on the counter, admiring them for a second. Then, he turned to Thranduil.

    “Open yours,” he said anxiously.

    Thranduil retrieved Bard’s present and unwrapped it eagerly. It was just a black case with a strap, but he seemed to know at once what was inside it.

    “Is this –?” He unclasped the case and pulled out the Polaroid camera, his eyebrows so far up to his hairline they could have disappeared. “No way! I’ve always wanted one of these!”

    He was so beautiful in that moment. Bard didn’t know why. Maybe because his heart was warm from exchanging gifts, and from knowing Thranduil liked his. His eyes were overbright and his mouth couldn’t stop smiling, and Bard wanted to kiss him so badly it killed him.

    “It has a new battery and everything,” he said. “I didn’t use any film to test it, but it made some noise when I clicked it.”

    Thranduil immediately loaded the camera with film. Bard wasn’t surprised to see he already knew how to use it. It whirred angrily, spitting out the black slide of film. Thranduil slipped it out and then peered inside the bag. He produced the flash bar, and attached it to the top of the camera. Then, before Bard could utter a single sound of protest, Thranduil snapped a photo of him with a blinding flash.

    “Hey!”

    The camera whirred again, ejecting a slide of film. Thranduil took it out, but it was still blank for the time being. Bard scowled at Thranduil, but Thranduil just laughed.

    “Can I try?” said Oropher, leaning back over the sofa with his free hand open.

    “Absolutely not,” Thranduil said sharply. “This is not a toy.”

    Oropher pouted and returned his attention to the television.

    Bard picked up the photo, but it hadn’t come out yet. “Takes a while.”

    “Yeah, I heard it can take up to fifteen minutes,” Thranduil said. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

    Bard went and put his shoes and beanie back on. In the sitting room, Thranduil was doing the same. He hid his jumper with a thick coat and, still holding the camera, he pushed the back door open.

    There was snow everywhere. Proper, real snow; white and still powdery from last night’s fall. Legolas and Tauriel were in amongst it, building a snowman and creating havoc.

    “Bard’s here!”

    Legolas got to his feet and collided into Bard’s legs, Tauriel tripping about behind him, her red hair stark against the white.

    “Help us find a stick!” she squeaked, kicking around flurries with her wellingtons. “He needs another arm!”

    She pointed to the snowman, which was nearly finished. It wasn't very large, for the snow hadn't been quite so heavy as to warrant a decent-sized one, but it was still admirable. They had found stones for the eyes and mouth, and one more stick was required for the left arm. While they were searching, Oropher sauntered out holding a carrot.

    “It’s crooked,” Thranduil admonished when he saw it.

    Oropher held it out proudly. “It’s the only one we have, and we must love and cherish it like family.”

    He handed it to Tauriel, who looked a little disapproving, but stuck it in the face of the snowman anyway. Legolas had found a stick, and the sculpture was complete. Bard heard the whirr of the Polaroid as Thranduil took a photo.

    “Let me see! Let me see!” Legolas said, jumping up to take the picture.

    “It hasn’t come out yet. Besides, you can look at the snowman with your own two eyes, doofus."

    "I'm not a doofus! You're a doofus!"

    “Am I supposed to reprimand the use of that word?” Oropher asked, hugging his eggnog a little closer, as if it would warm him. “Thranduil, Legolas, that’s a bad word.”

    “You’re a bad word," Thranduil retorted, exchanging a grin with his little brother.

    They went back inside, teeth-chattering. Bard went over to see if the photo Thranduil had taken of him had come out. It had, and it was exactly as upsetting as he knew it would be.

    Thranduil peered very close over Bard's shoulder to see. “You look like someone slapped you.”

    Bard just thought he looked like a startled fish, and he was desperately embarrassed when Thranduil pocketed the photo.

    “Do you want something to eat? We can probably sneak some trifle from the fridge.”

    “Sure,” Bard said.

    Oropher was on the sofa again, being shown Legolas’ new video game in great detail. Tauriel was playing with Lego, humming softly along to the cartoons on the television.

    “Is he… okay?” Bard asked, inclining his head in Oropher’s direction.

    “He’s fine,” Thranduil assured, opening the fridge and producing an enormous bowl of trifle. He retrieved a jug of eggnog as well. “He struggles with holidays.”

    “How come?”

    Thranduil shrugged, dishing out two bowls and glasses. “We used to be a really big family. Mum has three sisters, and they all have kids, and her parents are still alive. But after she and dad died, they all kind of… forgot about us. They live on the other side of the world, and they don’t call.”

    “I’m sorry,” said Bard, accepting a glass of eggnog.

    Thranduil smiled lightly. “It doesn’t matter to me. Legolas and I were supposed to go to the care of one of our aunt’s, but none of them wanted us. I don’t see why I should care about people who don’t care about us.”

    “But your uncle cares?”

    “He doesn’t cope very well without company, especially during Christmas,” Thranduil explained, pushing a bowl of trifle towards Bard and leaning against the kitchen counter. “He and dad were actually really close when they were kids, but since my dad was the oldest, there was a lot of expectation put on him, and they eventually grew apart. Oropher kind of got… put to the side.”

    “Your family seems odd,” Bard confessed.

    “Less of a family than a well-bred series of business partners, if you ask me. Marriage was for benefit, and children were for company security. I guess you could say Oropher and I were the black sheep. Pretty ironic that we’re the only ones left now.”

    Thranduil pushed the food around his bowl for a while, brooding over it. Bard felt bad to have pried, but Thranduil hadn’t really resisted the interrogation, which was rare. Every time he spoke out, it felt like Bard was gaining a new piece of him to cherish. 

    “How are things with your dad?” Thranduil said. “Is he mad that you quit work?”

    “Not really. He’s been doing a lot better, actually. His drinking buddies ditched him, so he’s a bit more himself again. Working together wasn’t actually as bad as I thought it would be.”

    “Your mum must be glad you’re going back to school next term,” Thranduil said with a smile.

    “She shed real tears when I told her,” Bard said. “Even dad was pretty pleased. You know, I actually saw him browsing universities online the other day. I think he wants to reapply to teach. But I’m not getting my hopes up. It might not last.”

    “You never know,” Thranduil supplied optimistically.

    They ate in silence for a while, listening the sounds of the other three by the television. It felt like Bard was living there again – school break, Oropher’s questionable cooking, Thranduil opening up more than he did at school.

    Bard wondered if Thranduil liked him – in that stupid, childish way people fancied each other, because they weren’t prepared to just admit it was love. Bard was always under the impression that kissing someone meant you liked them, but for once he felt that was not always true. Thranduil gave no indication that he was interested in Bard, and somehow it just hurt more. It meant the kiss held no significance, even though Bard dearly wanted it to.

    He went home in low spirits, trying not to show it. Tauriel swung onto Bard’s arm as he left, insisting he come back soon, and he promised he would. Thranduil simply waved goodbye.

 

   Bard wanted to take another break from homework – that was the whole point of school holidays, after all – but Thranduil wouldn’t hear of it. They had been given three weeks to complete nearly two month’s worth of school work, and they had barely scratched the surface.

    “It’s a good thing you already know half this stuff,” Thranduil said as he drew up a Chemistry chart. “It’s just a shame you can’t read any faster.”

    “The faster I read, the less I understand. We’ve been through this,” said Bard.

    Thranduil smiled, tucking his hair behind his ear as he bent forward to mark the top of the paper. “I’m just teasing you.”

    Not for the first time, Bard thought sourly. He pulled the chart towards him and started to fill it out.

    This went on for several more days; diagrams, essays, charts, reading, and the never-ending cycle of getting distracted and abandoning everything for a few hours until the guilt settled in and they kept going.

    Thus, another week passed, and the New Year came and went without anything particularly interesting happening (unless you counted Bard’s dad somehow getting suspended from work again, which Bard didn’t). The school break was drawing to a close, and Bard had reached his learning limit. He had never studied this hard before, and the thought of going back to school after it was over actually made him want to cry.

    “We’re nearly done,” Thranduil assured. It was Thursday. They had four days left before the start of Third Term.

    Bard lay back on his bedroom floor, closing his eyes against the cold winter light streaming through the window. His brain felt numb. He couldn’t even find it in himself to set aside time to pine and fancy Thranduil anymore because his head was filled all with numbers and formulas and poetry stanzas. He was retaining everything, and he had a hard time reminding himself that it was a good thing.

    “What’s left?” he asked weakly.

    “Two chapters of Math, the P.E diagram, and you have to finish reading _Wuthering Heights_.”

    Bard groaned. “But Heathcliff is the worst!”

    “I know,” Thranduil sympathised.

    They finished on Friday afternoon, and it felt like the whole world have been lifted from Bard’s shoulders; like Atlas finally being given a fucking breather from holding up the sky. Bard threw himself on his bed, put a vinyl on his gramophone, and stayed there for the rest of the weekend. He wanted to see his other friends – Glorfindel, Egalmoth, Gil-Galad – but he had spent such precious little time alone that winter break that being by himself was a well-deserved comfort. He would see them all on Monday, and show off the hard work he’d done just to come back to them.

    Bard was grateful for Thranduil’s help, and he wished he showed it more. He knew he never would have been able to get through such storm without Thranduil’s constant encouragements and unwavering persistence towards getting things done. He was an unstoppable force, and Bard loved him. He loved him.

    It felt that, for just a few hours – almost a day – things were going to be normal again. Bard was going back to school, his friends might not actually hate him, and his family were finally acting like a family was supposed to. But Bard had never known a good thing to last. That's why they were good things; because they filtered out all the bad that happened.

    He heard bickering first. Heavy sighs drifting under his closed bedroom door. Then, the bickering turned into shouting, and the shouting to crying. Bard put a pillow over his face and groaned into it. Whatever his dad had done now, it sounded like one hell of an offense - worse than getting suspended, it seemed. His mum wasn’t one to cry, so when she did, it was harder to bear.

    It was already late – Bard had said goodnight and gone to bed, determined to adjust his sleeping pattern in time for school. But he couldn’t sleep. The shouting had stopped and everyone was quiet, but he couldn’t sleep. He realised he didn’t actually like being by himself.

    He rolled over in bed and checked the time on his phone. It was past midnight. He wondered if Thranduil would still be awake.

 

> **Are you still up?**

    He didn’t have to wait long before the animated ellipses appeared in the conversation, and Thranduil replied.

 

>     _Yeah. Are you okay?_

Bard considered his response for a moment, unsure of what he wanted to get out of texting Thranduil. It had been an automatic counter to his bad mood, and he hadn't really noticed that until now.

 

>     **Can I come over?**

    He had to wait a bit longer this time. He watched the little dots moving, his anxiety mounting.

 

> _Jump the back gate and text me when you’re here._
> 
> **Thank you.**

    Bard got out of bed, moving silently about his room. He pulled on warm clothes over his pyjamas and packed his school bag with a toothbrush, and some other things. He left a scribbled note on his pillow so his mum didn’t worry about finding his bed empty (not that a note would appease her), and then he tip-toed out of the room and down the stairs. He felt bad to leave her alone after a fight with his dad, but Bard couldn't stay there. He didn't want to get caught in the middle of it again.

    The streets were eerie, like walking through a dream, but not a nice one. It was beginning to snow again, and Bard quickened his pace, lifting up his hood.

    He hurried up the path and into Thranduil’s driveway. Around the side of the house, the back gate loomed tall and unfriendly. Bard boosted himself up on Thranduil’s car, taking care not to slip on the snow. He leapt over, letting his feet land on a window ledge before dropping to the ground, not wanting to make too much noise and wake someone up. He sent Thranduil a text message as he circled to the backyard.

    Thranduil’s bedroom overlooked the yard, and Bard could see a dim light shining from within. Several moments later, he heard the back door opening. He hurried inside the house, breathing a sigh of relief at the warmth it held. Thranduil locked the door again and they both crept upstairs to his room.

    “I’m sorry for this,” Bard murmured when it was safe to speak.

    Thranduil smiled in the low light. shutting his bedroom door. “Don’t be.”

    Bard looked around. The light that was on was at Thranduil’s desk, and next to it his laptop stood open with a photo-editing program running. Bard peered at it, looking through the tiles on the bottom.

    “These are really good,” he said.

    “Um, thanks,” Thranduil said. “So, I don’t really have anywhere for you to sleep except my bed. I mean, I can probably sleep downstairs if sharing makes you uncomfortable…”

    He faltered, blushing a little, twisting his fingers in his hand.

    Bard hadn’t taken the sleeping variable into account when he’d decided to come here, and he suddenly felt very embarrassed - more embarrassed than Thranduil was, that was for certain. He was unsure of what answer to give, or what answer Thranduil wanted to hear.

    His heart won him over, in the end, and his boldness.

    “I don’t mind sharing.”

    Thranduil gave no reaction that Bard could see, and he didn’t know if he found this comforting or more unnerving.

    “I’m just going to finish editing,” Thranduil said, sitting down at his desk again. “Try not to make too much noise. I don’t want anyone to wake up.”

    “Will your uncle mind that I’m here? I can leave in the morning if you need me to,” Bard said.

    “No, he won't care. He might not even notice.”

    Bard set about undressing, piling all his things into a corner of the room with his shoes. He sat down on Thranduil’s bed, feeling a little awkward, but better for it all the same. He was tired, and he thought he might actually be able to sleep now. It was all coming back to him now – the smell of Thranduil’s room, and plants and loose bits of paper. Bard felt at home here. He spied the Polaroid camera he had given Thranduil, sitting on his desk with some photos and a notebook.

    While Thranduil worked on editing, Bard looked around the room. He spotted a stack of pictures on the bedside table, so he picked up them and started sorting through them. They were mostly of two boys – nearing their teens and both startlingly blonde. It took Bard a moment, but he eventually realised they were Glorfindel and Thranduil when they were still kids. The photos were all of them at the beach, building sandcastles and digging holes. Sometimes there were other people in the background – older, severe-looking people that Bard thought might be Thranduil’s parents – and once or twice he saw a small, blurry toddler tottering after Thranduil in the picture.

    Glancing up at Thranduil now, it was difficult to believe that the smiling boy in the photographs and the broody teenager at the desk were the same person. Certainly, they looked the same, but they weren’t the same person.

    Bard was still shuffling through the photos when Thranduil shut his laptop and sat down on the bed.

    “Sorry,” Bard murmured, setting them back on the table.

   He felt like a proper intruder, coming to Thranduil’s house in the middle of the night and snooping through his belongings. But Bard always wanted to know more about Thranduil – wanted more reasons to love him, as though he didn’t already have enough.

    They went to bed. Bard tried not to be awkward about it, because Thranduil seemed unconcerned and Bard didn’t want to be the one to make it weird. They slipped under the many blankets of the single bed, and Thranduil gave Bard one of his pillows. It smelled like his hair.

    “Comfortable?” Thranduil said.

    “Yeah,” Bard replied.

    “I’ve never slept in a bed with somebody my age before.”

    Bard didn't say anything to this. Being in such close proximity to Thranduil was making his head spin.

    He took a breath.

    “Hey, Thranduil?”

    “Yeah?”

    “How come you kissed me?”

   Bard was forcing himself not to regret it; to not think about how stupid a question it was when they were in the same bed, almost touching, but not quite. But he couldn’t keep pretending the kiss wasn’t eating away at him. He didn’t want to act like it wasn’t killing him.

    Thranduil kept his silence. For a long time, he lay motionless, his back to Bard and his hair spilling out on both pillows. But he couldn’t ignore Bard. Not this time.

    “I don’t know,” he finally said.

    That wasn’t what Bard wanted to hear. He didn’t know exactly _what_ he wanted Thranduil to say, but that definitely wasn’t it.

    No, that was a lie. He knew what he wanted Thranduil to say, but Bard knew he wouldn’t say it.

    “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?”

    Bard felt Thranduil shrink away from him a little. “I just don’t know, okay? It was a mistake. I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”

    He tone was angry and defensive, which Bard didn’t appreciate. He felt deserving of a proper answer, and now he wasn’t going to quit until he got it.

    “But you can’t go around kissing people like it doesn’t mean anything,” Bard said, fighting to keep his voice down.

    “Why does it have to mean anything? Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

    “Because I like you. That was a really shitty thing to do.”

    To Bard’s astonishment, this made Thranduil turn around. Even in the darkness, he could see the crease between his eyebrows, and the slight parting of his lips.

    “What?”

    “What?” Bard repeated, his heart beating very fast. Perhaps he had been too bold. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do with feelings for other people. The general rule was asking them out, if you thought you stood a chance, but Thranduil was overcomplicating things. And his reaction to finding out Bard fancied him was only the half of it.

    “You like me?” he said.

    Bard made a pained noised. “I thought that was obvious.”

    “No.”

    “Oh.”

    The night time crept back around them, drawing in the quiet. Thranduil rolled onto his back, and Bard watched his hair catch the glint of moonlight filtering in through the blinds. He wanted to reach out and feel how soft it was again.

    “I’m sorry,” Thranduil whispered, finally meeting Bard’s eye. “If I had known, I wouldn’t – wouldn’t have –”

    Bard couldn’t make sense of him. Thranduil’s expression didn’t match what he was saying. Rather than apologetic, he still looked confused and - if Bard wasn't mistaken - upset.

    “It’s fine,” Bard said. “You’re right; I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”

    He knew he had made things awkward between them now. Bard honestly didn’t know what he’d expected to come of confessing his feelings. Was Thranduil supposed to say he liked Bard too? Bard never got that impression from him, regardless of the kiss. Thranduil had always maintained a strict and easy friendship, and Bard had just gone and thrown it back in his face.

    All he wanted to do was kiss Thranduil again. Properly, this time, and because they both wanted to. But Bard now knew for certain that there was no chance of that happening. Whatever Thranduil's real thoughts were concerning Bard and concerning the kiss, he was keeping them to himself, and Bard would simply have to get over it.


	15. learning curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil explains himself, and Glorfindel and Ecthelion offer some insight.

* * *

  

**You do this, you do. You take the things you love and tear them apart.**

  

* * *

 

“I saw you staring at Bard during Chemistry earlier.”

    Thranduil let his head fall back so as to avoid Glorfindel’s persistent stare. He examined the ceiling of the library until he was prodded into responding. He tilted his head forward again.

    “So?”

    “I don’t see you guys for three weeks because you spent the entire winter break together, and all you have to say to me is _‘so’_? I feel like I missed out on something!”

    Glorfindel pouted and made grabbing motions with his hands.

    “No doubt your world would crumble if you missed out on even a shred of gossip. Nothing happened,” Thranduil said firmly.

    “That’s not what Bard told me,” Glorfindel countered.

    Thranduil’s heart turned over with fear. “What did Bard tell you?!”

    “Ha!” Glorfindel pointed at Thranduil triumphantly. “Something did happen!”

    Thranduil's fear turned quickly to annoyance. “He didn’t tell you anything.”

    “Nope! I can’t believe that worked. Now you have to tell me, or I won’t let you leave for class,” Glorfindel said.

    Thranduil groaned. “There's nothing to tell. And I don’t have class after lunch, so your plan is already in shambles.”

    Glorfindel grabbed Thranduil’s arm and shook him vigorously. “You’re so frustrating! The more you deny, the more suspicious I am. Did you guys hook up? Did you do something embarrassing? Did you see his dick by accident?”

    Thranduil made a face and pushed Glorfindel away from him. Glorfindel slumped against his chair, grumbling and sulking in defeat. Thranduil ignored him and opened his laptop.

    “Aren’t you going ask how my break was?” Glorfindel whined self-importantly.

    “No. I have to get my homework done,” Thranduil said.

    “You and me both, pal. But, wait, as if _you_ have overdue homework. How did you fall behind?”

    “Bard had more to catch up on than I thought. I spent all my time helping him,” Thranduil explained.

    “Gay,” Glorfindel muttered.

    Thranduil did not reply to this. He wasn’t about to give Glorfindel ammunition to nag him about Bard. It was bad enough Thranduil felt the way he did without Glorfindel getting on his case.

    How was he to have known Bard fancied him? No one ever had before, and Bard was the last person Thranduil would have picked. He felt guilty to have turned Bard down so harshly, but surely it was better for them both just to forget about what had happened. A problem like this could be safely ignored without any repercussions. Staying friends was the most sensible option.

    However, Thranduil couldn’t set aside the part of him that regretted this. He wished he could be honest about his feelings for Bard, because they were real and he had to come to terms with that. But confessing them would only complicate things further, because a confession required an action, and Thranduil didn’t want to put anything at stake.

    He knew it wasn’t fair – on either of them – that he was choosing his education over all other things, including Bard. But Thranduil just didn’t see the practicality in dating someone when he was still in high school. He had witnessed too many short-lived romances and half-assed relationships fail to have any other opinion about them. There was no foundation for dating at school – no application for anything long-term – and so he simply didn’t see the point, no matter how much he really, _really_ liked Bard.

    Glorfindel could see the truth – this much was clear – even if he didn’t know what truth he was seeing. But he was just another statistic in the ever-growing body count of broken hearts and unsuccessful relationships, and he only fuelled Thranduil’s determination to keep things civil with Bard. He didn’t want them to end up like Glorfindel and Ecthelion.

    Yet, Glorfindel and Ecthelion were happy. Granted, not always, and not so much recently, but they still smiled a lot when they saw each other, and Glorfindel’s teasing was endearing instead of annoying when it was directed at Ecthelion. They argued all the time and they weren’t technically a couple, but they were still irrefutably happy, and that was something Thranduil envied in the both of them. To smile just because someone had entered the room… what kind of dream that must be.

    “Heads up, Romeo; your other Romeo is here,” Glorfindel suddenly said, elbowing Thranduil sharply.

    “You know, sometimes I feel like you don’t even try anymore. What happened to your spark?” Thranduil replied, not looking up from his laptop screen.

    “It died along with my hopes and dreams,” Glorfindel said tonelessly.

    From the corner of his eye, Thranduil saw Glorfindel waving Bard over. He only looked up when Bard was right in front of them. He smiled.

    “All my homework is officially submitted!” Bard cheered, dumping his schoolbag on the floor at Thranduil’s feet. “I’m free until Math, when I’ll probably get some more.”

    “Just think of it,” Glorfindel said dreamily, “we’re all halfway out of here. For good!”

    “Don’t we have careers counselling soon?” Bard asked, taking a chair from another set of desks and pulling it up to sit on across from Thranduil.

    “Yep! I can’t wait to listen to Nellas try and coax me out of football. It amuses me that she thinks I’m good at anything else,” Glorfindel said with a smirk.

    “You’re good at lots of things,” Thranduil cut in.

    “Name one other thing,” said Glorfindel.

    “Excessive eating… excessive drinking… not taking notes for class… bothering the shit out of me… hair care.” Thranduil used his fingers to tick off each one as he went. Glorfindel hit him.

    “You don’t get to say anything about my hair when yours is as long as you are tall,” Glorfindel snapped. “Get a haircut, man.”

    “No. I like it when you’re jealous of me,” Thranduil quipped.

    Glorfindel ruffled his curly hair. “I’m getting dreadlocks in here, actually. I’m living every trashy white boy’s dream.”

    “Do you not own a comb?” Bard said.

    “Brushing my hair makes it go frizzy,” Glorfindel sulked.

    The bell rang for the end of lunch and Bard hitched up his bag, looking a little worn down. He had dark circles around his eyes. “Are you staying until the end of the day?” he said to Thranduil.

    Thranduil nodded. “Yeah. Do you want a lift home?”

    Bard averted his eyes at this. “Nah. I’ll – I’ll catch the bus. But, thanks anyway.”

    Thranduil’s heart seemed to tighten painfully as he watched Bard leave with Glorfindel. There was a rift between them now.

    All the same, maybe he did know what it was like to smile when someone entered the room. He seemed to do it every time he saw Bard.

   

    The weather had changed. It almost felt like summer had never existed what with how cold it had become. Snow capped the turrets and the stone courtyard of the school, and students were rushing in late to classes, soaking wet and chilled to the bone. Teachers were frustrated, trying to drill the importance of exams into already overfilled heads, and getting sore hands from writing up so many uniform passes and detention slips.

    Thranduil was beginning to feel the weight of the approaching exams quite heavily. He didn’t feel ready for them; he didn’t want to take that kind of step towards adulthood, regardless of the fact that he’d been studying his hardest for years to do exactly that.

    “I honestly don’t think I’ll make it,” Ecthelion said one Wednesday afternoon when he and Thranduil were in the library. “I don’t have the brain capacity for this much information. No one does.”

    Thranduil let his head rest on his notebook. “I’m tired of chemistry formulas.”

    “We’re all going out to the movie theatre later,” Ecthelion suggested. “After football practice.”

    Thranduil raised his head and glanced out the window to his right. He could glimpse the football pitch from here, and a couple of students running with the ball, slipping around on the wet turf, which was the only surface not sprinkled with snow. It had been a while since he’d done anything fun.

    “Why not,” he said, returning to his book.

    “Bard is going too.”

    Thranduil rolled his eyes so far back into his head it almost hurt. “Not you as well.”

    Ecthelion smiled wryly. “It was just something Glorfindel mentioned. He’s under the impression something happened between you two.”

    Thranduil looked at Ecthelion. They weren’t particularly close, but they had known each other a long time, and Thranduil liked Ecthelion because was quiet and easy-going and he didn’t take anyone’s nonsense.

    That was why Thranduil figured it was safe to tell him, even though he wasn’t sure why he wanted to tell anyone at all.

    “Just. Don’t say anything to Glorfindel, okay?”

    “You have my word.”

    Thranduil took a deep breath. “I kissed Bard during break. And then I… kind of rejected him.”

    Ecthelion processed this slowly, and then let out a shaky laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. “That’s – um –”

    “I know,” Thranduil said.

    “Damn. What did you kiss him for?” Ecthelion was still laughing a bit, but not in a way that suggested he was amused.

    “Beats me,” Thranduil muttered. “He was just there. He’s pretty.”

    “Okay, I’ll accept that. But hey, I was right.”

    Thranduil scowled. “I don’t fancy him.”

    “Sure.”

    “It’s complicated, okay?”

    “That’s what everyone’s excuse is,” Ecthelion said. “I mean, my relationship with Glorfindel could be complicated, but I know it’s just me being an asshole.”

    Thranduil chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I guess you of all people would understand.”

    “Worried about university, huh?” Ecthelion supplied.

    “It’s not just that,” Thranduil said. “I mean, I see idiots around here falling for each other all the time, and it never lasts. What’s the point if it’s not going to last?”

    Ecthelion seemed to consider this for a while, watching Thranduil intently. Not in the same way Bard looked at Thranduil, though. He wasn’t trying to figure him out. He was just trying to find the right answer.

    “No good thing lasts. That’s what makes it worth having.”  

    “I see no value in anything temporary,” Thranduil said. “And Bard... he could do better than me. I'm just going to disappoint him and then leave for university."

    “You shouldn’t put yourself down like that. Bard obviously likes you for a reason. It’s not fair for you to disregard his feelings by thinking you’re not worth it,” Ecthelion said.

    “All the same. I don’t think it’s a good idea."

    “I don’t agree, but I understand where you’re coming from.”

    Thranduil was glad Ecthelion at least saw his perspective, but it didn’t make him feel any better about it. He was doing Bard a disservice, and hurting his feelings, and Thranduil wished he could find it in himself to repair the damage he had done.

    The two boys had fallen back into their mutual silence when someone approached their table. Celebrían stood there, her arms full of folders and books. She looked a little out of breath.

    “There you are,” she said to Thranduil. “Bard said you would be here. I need your help.”

    “Okay,” Thranduil said, not entirely convinced that he, of all people, could help her.

    “I’m after a student to write a testimony to the school for the yearbook,” Celebrían explained. “I’m a little short on volunteers, and I could really use someone like you for this.”

    “Someone like me?” Thranduil repeated in astonishment.

    Celebrían nodded earnestly. “You’re perfect for the job! I can trust you to write something unbiased and practical.”

    “But, Celebrían, most of the students here don’t even like me. How am I supposed to unbiased?” Thranduil contested weakly.

    “Don’t be like that. If it bothers you that much, you can write it anonymously. Please, Thranduil, I really need this favour from you. I’ll do anything.”

    She did indeed seem desperate, and Thranduil was admittedly touched that she had thought to come to him, but he wasn’t quite as confident in his impartiality towards the school as Celebrían appeared to be.

    “Well, alright,” he said warily. “I’m not making any promises, though. When do you need it done by?”

    Relief spread across Celebrían’s face. “You’re a lifesaver, I swear. It needs to be done by the end of April so there’s time for proof-reading and adjustments. Here’s a run-down of what you need to write about.”

    She handed Thranduil a piece of paper. He took it and folded it into his bag.

    “There is also one other thing,” Celebrían added, pressing her palms together sheepishly. “I heard you have a Polaroid camera?”

    “Oh, yeah. Bard gave it to me for Christmas,” Thranduil said. He caught the way Ecthelion raised an eyebrow at this.

    “If – if I paid for film, or any other expenses, would you mind terribly if you took photos of students with it? I’ve been considering a certain layout for the yearbook, and Polaroid photos would be absolutely perfect for it, if I can get enough of them.”

    “Okay. But I don’t know how students will feel about me taking photos of them,” Thranduil said.

    “I’ll send out a notice in the weekly newsletter,” Celebrían said. “Anyone who doesn’t want their picture taken can just say so. You’ll just have to make yourself noticeable when you do it, so you’re not sneaking up on people. It’ll be a big job. I need a lot of photos, and decent ones too. But don’t let certain people monopolize the camera, either, otherwise it will just be a waste of film and ink. Maybe carry around your normal camera just in case. Do you take digital photos? I’ll have to look into the cost of printing digital photos…”

    She trailed off, checking the time on her watch.

    “Fuck! I have to go. Thank you again, Thranduil. This means the world to me.”

    And with that, she was gone in a flurry of yellow hair and papers.

    Ecthelion laughed. “I can’t believe how easily she sucked you into that.”

    “She just dumped half the yearbook work on me!” Thranduil exclaimed furiously. “How am I supposed to do all that with exams coming up?”

    “I’m sure she doesn’t want you to do as much as she’s asking,” Ecthelion reasoned. “Other people will take their own photos. Maybe just prioritise the polaroids?”

    “She’ll go broke paying for film if she wants that many,” Thranduil said. “She gives way too much.”

    “Well, at least the school can’t ignore you now.”

    Thranduil sighed heavily. “I like being ignored.”

 

    It turned out quite a few people were going to the movie theatre that afternoon. Once upon a time, Thranduil would have declined the offer had he known in advance how many people he would have to sit with. But he didn’t change his mind. He left school early to change out of his uniform, and then he drove into the city to meet Glorfindel and everyone else.

    He wondered when he’d gotten used to it; having people around him, and not feeling bothered by their presence. It made him think of Bard, and how deeply he valued and cherished his friends. Thranduil had never expected to feel the same way about any group of people. One or two individuals, certainly, but not a group. Yet Thranduil frequently found himself in company he wasn’t accustomed to. He didn’t know when the transition had occurred, but he had very abruptly gone from being by himself all the time, to being by himself almost never. He said hello to multiple people in the mornings now, and always had someone to sit with in class. Gil-Galad did Global Politics, and he took the chair next to Thranduil without hesitating. Ecthelion shared a free period with him, so they studied together in the library. Mithrellas and Nimrodel were in his Environmental Science class, so they teamed up for projects. And Finduilas took Extended Investigation, so Thranduil even had someone in that class too.

    He liked being in the company of others. Thranduil hadn’t realised it, but he missed having different people to talk to. He was beginning to understand how Bard felt – afraid to let his friends down, afraid to be seen in a negative light, afraid to lose them – and how essential it suddenly was to him that he didn’t push everyone away again.

    The city was relatively quiet since it was Wednesday. Thranduil parked underground, beneath the cinema, and he spotted a familiar station wagon several spots down. Egalmoth was getting out, followed by several others, including Bard. They all hailed Thranduil, and he went over to them.

    “You put my ride to shame, you know that?” Egalmoth said, eyeing Thranduil’s car.

    Thranduil smiled. “Maybe, but at least you can actually drive people around. I picked a loner’s car.”

    By Thranduil’s count, Egalmoth had been two people over his passenger limit. Judging by Ecthelion’s ruffled hair and irritable expression, he had been forced to sit on the floor at the front.

    “What time does the movie start?” asked Mithrellas.

    “Five,” said Ecthelion, glancing at his watch. “We have time to get snacks and stuff. Are we meeting anyone else?”

    “Gil-Galad and Finduilas are on their way. She just texted and they should be here in few minutes,” said Glorfindel.

    “We’ll meet them at the theatre,” said Egalmoth, locking his car as they all started to make their way out of the parking bay.

    “Thranduil, what do you think of my hair?” Niënor piped up, bouncing into step with him and tossing her bright hair over her shoulders. “I need confirmation that blue is my colour.”

    “It looks good,” Thranduil assured her.

    “My brother said it makes me look sick, but I don’t want to believe him,” she said.

    “You shouldn’t listen to Túrin,” Thranduil said. “He doesn’t have a colourful bone in his body.”

    “I’m glad you think so. I’m still pretty convinced he’s adopted, you know.”

    They all walked up the stairs from the parking bay. Thranduil fell behind the others, and Bard was in his line of sight. He had the new headphones Thranduil had bought him around his neck.

    Thranduil realised then that they hadn’t actually spoken at all that day, save for a few words during Literature. It wasn’t out of any uneasiness or anger, but simply a lack of anything to say. Thranduil missed the days when he and Bard spoke often, catching each other in the corridors and walking out of their way for one another just to have a minute's more conversation. It seemed Bard was starting to distance himself a bit, and Thranduil didn’t blame him. After all their misunderstandings, it was a miracle they were still friends. Thranduil wouldn’t have been surprised if Bard had chosen to ignore him completely. But Bard was too kind for that.

    Tickets, drinks, and popcorn were purchased at the movie theatre, and Finduilas and Gil-Galad arrived with ten minutes to spare. The company all milled about outside the theatre doors, waiting to be allowed in. Thranduil sat down against the wall and listened to everyone else talking. After a while, Glorfindel joined him.

    “Are you okay?” he asked.

    “Huh?”

    “You look like someone just died,” Glorfindel pointed out.

    “Thanks,” Thranduil said bitterly. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

    “Things not going too well with your boyfriend?”

    Thranduil set his friend with the sternest expression he could muster. “I really wish you wouldn’t. It’s not nearly as simple as you think it is.”

    “Well, I just don’t see how it’s _not_ simple. You like him, he likes you. There’s some sitting in a tree involved in this story, I’m sure of it,” said Glorfindel with a smirk.

    “It doesn’t matter if I like him,” Thranduil muttered. “It would never work out between us.”

    “Aren’t you being a bit quick to that conclusion? How do you know if you don’t try?”

    “I just do, okay?" Thranduil took a breath. "My life has been an exhausting, endless series of mistakes, and I don’t want to add Bard to that category. We’re happy as friends, and I don’t want to ruin that over a stupid crush that won't last.”

    Glorfindel’s face fell, and he chanced a look at Bard. Thranduil glanced that way too. Bard’s attention was taken by Niënor, who was doing a tarot reading for him.

    “I don’t think Bard sees it that way,” Glorfindel said softly. “I think he’d be prepared to take that risk for you.”

    “Well, I’m not worth it, so I’m sparing him,” Thranduil said stubbornly. “I don’t have my life put together yet.”

    “No one does!” Glorfindel said, a little too loudly. He flinched and lowered his voice again. “Name one person you think has their shit sorted out. That’s why you need other people; to sort it out together.”

    “What, like you and Ecthelion have it sorted out? Or Gwindor and Finduilas?”

    Glorfindel looked a little hurt by this, but he did not relent, so Thranduil saved his remorse.

    “You’re supposed to make mistakes in life. That’s how you learn. I thought you of all people would understand that,” Glorfindel said. “I mean, look at Nim and Mithrellas. They’ve been together for over a year now, but you can’t tell because they take it easy and don’t let little things get to them. They don’t waste time denying each other or making things harder than they need to be.”

    “They’re only one good example stacked up against hundreds of bad ones,” said Thranduil. “Anyway, what’s so wrong with just being friends with Bard? It’s not like it’s not as good as any other alternative.”

    Glorfindel seemed to finally back down at this, but Thranduil caught the shadow of defeat that passed over his eyes. “I guess it isn’t my place to convince you. But I still think avoiding your feelings is the real mistake here.”

    Thranduil frowned. “How do you even know that I like him?”

    Glorfindel grinned at this. “Mate. You don’t exactly hide it.”

    Thranduil was afraid that might be the case. He wasn’t accustomed to having to deal with his feelings, much less try to hide them or avoid acting on them. He rarely experienced any emotion that might be deemed embarrassing or inconvenient. Two years since his parents had died and the most intense thing he’d felt was near-crippling anxiety. But then Bard had come along, and he had shaken Thranduil up a bit, surfacing many things he had been denying himself, like his emotions and his friends. Without even trying, and without even Thranduil noticing, Bard had pulled him out of his solitude, and brought him into the light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a bit with this chapter because I feel like not enough happens in it, but I had to clear up Thranduil's thought process, and that actually took more words than I assumed it would. There was lot of dialogue and discussion and very little Bard, but for a reason. And since it's still mid-Jan in the timeline, they went to see a Star War.  
> Anyway, thank you all again and again for reading and commenting. I hope this fic lives up to your expectations, whatever they may be. I really enjoy writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it too. I'm going to try and make more interesting things happen in next few chapters :)


	16. fineprint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard receives some advice and attempts to come to terms with it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not organised enough to publish the Valentine's Day chapter on Valentine's Day. Here's a gay emotional rollercoaster instead. Hope all your Valentine's Day are Cool and Fun, whoever you may spend it with, if anyone at all. Thank you again for reading!

* * *

 

**You had expected something else, anything else.**

 

* * *

 

 

The further into January the year went, the harsher the winter became. Snow capped the trees and distant mountains, and all through the town and neighbouring suburbs cars were slipping about and causing accidents. Some days, the buses were terminated, and students could been seen trekking the white streets on foot to get to school.

    The abysmal turn in weather had Bard inconsolably miserable. With so much snow, football practice was cancelled, and he was trapped inside all day with the other senior students, doing homework or taking mock exams. It was barely February, but the teachers at Rhovanion were persistent to the last about making sure their students were ready to pass their final year.

    Bard was dreading the end-of-year exams. He was confident he would pass, but passing meant leaving, and leaving meant taking a new step towards… whatever it was he was expected to take a step towards. He didn’t feel at all prepared for the world waiting for him outside the school gates.

    His lack of ambition where post-graduation was concerned was made evident enough during careers counselling. Bard’s meeting with Nellas was slotted in during his Ancient History period on Tuesday. He said goodbye to Thranduil, picked up his bag, and headed to her office. There was a file waiting for him there, and a plate of biscuits.

    “Your grades are very good,” Nellas said after Bard had sat down at her desk. She was flicking through the file. “I was impressed with how well you managed to catch up after your – ah – absence last term. It’s clear to me that you’re a hard worker, but is there anything you wish to achieve with these kinds of results? If you keep this up, you could be eligible for a scholarship.”

    Bard blushed a little, fiddling with the strap of his bag. It felt good to have his hard work recognised, however embarrassing it was. He was tired. School wasn’t quite as laid back as he remembered it to be.

    “I don’t really know what I want to do when I graduate,” he said.

    Nellas frowned carefully. “You don’t have any interests you’d like to pursue?”

    Bard shook his head.

    “Well, that’s not really a problem. University opens up a broad range of opportunities. You don’t have to know what you want to do straight away.”

    “But don’t I just accumulate debt by doing that?” Bard said.

    “Not if you attend on scholarship.”

    “And what if I don’t get a scholarship?”

    “Don’t? Or won’t?”

    Bard lowered his eyes to the floor, focusing on a small stain in the carpet. “I just think a scholarship would be wasted on me.”

    “I see,” said Nellas. When Bard looked up again, she was pushing her glasses up her nose and looking uncharacteristically severe. “Then, did you have anything else in mind?”

    “Not really,” Bard admitted, still refusing to meet her gaze. “I thought maybe I’d just work for a while and figure out something else in the meantime.”

    “Take a gap year, you mean?” Nellas clarified tersely.

    Bard knew all teachers disapproved of the concept of a gap year. He wondered if they were just tired of hearing about it from indecisive students, or if they had actual evidence to support their disapproval.

    “Sure,” Bard said stubbornly. “And, even if I do get a scholarship, I can postpone it, right?”

    “Well, yes, you can, but you still have to enrol yourself into a university as soon as you graduate. They withhold your enrolment until you’re ready to attend.”

    Bard thought about this for a while. He liked the idea of university, but he saw no prospects for himself there. What was the point in going if he didn’t know what he wanted to do? He could study teaching or medicine or psychology, but all those options felt hollow to him – just means to an end he wouldn’t really enjoy. He didn’t have a hobby – there was nothing he was passionate about.

    “I’m not fond of bringing it up, but how do you feel about football? You’re on the school team, aren’t you?” Nellas put forth.

    “Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to play professionally. I’m just on the team for something to do. It’s fun,” Bard explained.

    “All the same, you can consider it if you have the talent. Sponsors from Gondolin will be attending the game next month. They have two scholarships for anyone they think is good enough.”

    But Bard shook his head again. “It’s not for me. Glorfindel would want that scholarship.”

    “He was particularly eager when I told him about it.” Nellas pursed her lips. “But if that doesn’t interest you, what else does?”

    “Nothing,” said Bard. “I like music. That’s pretty much it.”

    Nellas seemed to latch onto this. “Do you play an instrument?”

    “No.”

    “What is it about music that you like?”

    Bard allowed himself a moment to think about this. He had never been asked such a question before.

    “I just like the creativity of it, and how much raw emotion people put into their songs,” he said.

    Nellas didn’t speak for a moment, but dug through a box on her desk full of papers. She pulled out a pamphlet and handed it to Bard.

    “How about entertainment management?”

    The brochure was advertising a study guide at one of the smaller universities in the city. Bard flicked through it curiously, taking note of the fineprint at the end.

    “What, like, organising gigs and stuff?”

    “If you like music, this would put you at the heart of it,” Nellas explained.

    “Sounds like a lot of work,” said Bard.

    Nellas was not deterred now that she finally had some suggestions to offer. She withdrew another pamphlet and placed it over the first one. “You can also try sound production. Working with artists in a studio to record their music.”

    “I don’t understand any of that tech stuff, though. I can’t even read music,” Bard dithered.

    Nellas smiled. “That’s what university is for.”

    Bard sighed, slumping back in his chair. “I don’t know. It looks interesting, but I don’t know if it’s something I’d really be into.”

    Nellas pressed her fingers together, having evidently lost her patience a little. “Look, university isn’t usually about catering to your hobbies. Tertiary study is there to get you a job, not just a piece of paper that says you know a lot about a certain topic. I know it may feel like a waste to study something you’re not entirely interested in, but you have to prioritise your hobbies and your career goals. You have to be able to make a living.”

    Bard raised an eyebrow. “No offence, miss, but that’s really bad advice. Shouldn’t you be encouraging me to pursue my interests?”

    Nellas shrugged a shoulder. “I’m a teacher, Bard. I’m not here to babysit your feelings. I’ve given you some options that focus on the interests you supplied me with, and I suggest you consider them if you can’t think of anything else. You have until the end of February to provide me with your university and course preferences, and I can organise scholarship eligibility for you from there.”

    Bard took the brochures and left the office feeling even less sure about his future than when he’d arrived. He knew Nellas had a point about what it meant to go to university, but he couldn’t help but disbelieve that studying to get a job was every person’s end goal. There had to be more to life than that.

   

    Bard caught up with Thranduil during recess, still feeling nettled after the so-called ‘careers counselling.’ He was standing in the rear courtyard near the cafeteria, fiddling with the lens of his camera. The sun had come out and students were making the most of it to fool around in the snow. Thranduil appeared to be taking pictures.

    “Hey,” said Bard as he approached.

    “Hi. You didn’t come back to class,” Thranduil replied, peering through the eyepiece of his camera.

    “Nellas kind of got to me,” Bard grumbled. “I was wondering, did you put down any preferences for universities during your session?”

    Thranduil looked up, blinking at Bard from over his scarf. His nose was pink and Bard tried not to notice how beautiful he was, but he couldn’t help it, because he was always noticing stuff like that.

    “Sure. I didn’t really need counselling. I just went to give her my references – and to humour her.”

    Bard’s heart sank. “Right. What – what are you going to study? I forgot.”

    Thranduil smiled brightly at this. “Well, I kind of had my heart set on botany, but I decided on photography instead. And literature as a Minor.”

    This took Bard by surprise. “Wait, really? But I thought you said you didn’t want to take on photography as a career.”

    “To be honest, I never thought about it until you brought it up. I guess I have you to thank for saving me from being a lab gremlin like my parents.”

    Thranduil beamed, and it cut through Bard like a dagger. How could he say it like that – as though Bard was responsible for helping him? It wasn’t fair that he was so organised and clear-headed when Bard had to be an indecisive mess.

    It was moments like these when Bard realised why Thranduil took no interest in him. They were too different; there was too much stacked against them. Thranduil was careful and driven and brave, while Bard was impulsive, reckless and… violent. A person needed thick skin to take on that kind of violence, and not even Thranduil was hard enough for that.

    Bard wished he could let go of how he felt. He wished it didn’t get to him the way that it did; digging under his skin and writhing about like a bone he didn’t need. The thought of the kiss still weighed heavily on his mind. Thranduil had been unclear about what it meant, and Bard didn’t know where that left them. He could feel their friendship slipping through the mistakes the both of them had made. There wasn’t enough left to hold them together.

    _Don’t give up on him,_ Oropher had said. Bard didn’t want to, but it was hard for him to be around Thranduil sometimes. There was too much raw feeling; too much he wanted to say, but didn’t have the courage to. He wasn’t brave like Thranduil; he wasn’t brave enough to shut it all out.

    It was Bard who was pushing Thranduil away, not the reverse, but it was still a way of giving up. It was still a defeat.

    He was an idiot to hope that his feelings might be returned. They never had been before, and Thranduil was far and away the last person Bard ever deserved to have.

    He looked at Thranduil, standing in the snow with his camera. He seemed different to when they had first met – brighter, perhaps, and open. He smiled more, and didn’t shy away from company like Bard had oftentimes seen him do. He seemed happy, and Bard wished very dearly to be the reason for this happiness.

    “It’s your birthday soon, isn’t it?” Thranduil said, turning back to Bard. There were snowflakes in his hair from the nearby students kicking it around. 

    “On Friday,” Bard said breathlessly.

    “Are you going to have a party?” Thranduil asked. His eyes were bright in the sun, warm enough to keep winter at bay.

    “I have to go,” Bard said abruptly.

    He turned quickly, his heart racing, but he didn’t miss the puzzled, almost hurt expression on Thranduil’s face at being left behind in the courtyard, taking pictures of students he didn’t really know.

    Recess ended, but Bard still had a free period. He went to the library for want of anywhere else to go and found Glorfindel there with his Health class, using the computers. His cheek was squashed into his hand and he was reading a fat textbook on human anatomy. Bard dropped into the empty chair next to him, hoping to blend in and not be noticed by Celeborn, who was helping another one of his students. Glorfindel started, having evidently been half asleep.

    “Oh, it’s you. Christ, you look like you’re about to cry. Are you okay?”

    “I’m fine,” Bard mumbled, pushing a keyboard away from him and burying his face into the crook of his elbow.

    “Thranduil again, huh?” said Glorfindel, turning the page of his book absently.

    Bard peered up at his friend. “How do you know it’s him?”

    “Because it’s _always_ him. You two are a pain in my ass, always nagging me for advice.”

    Bard frowned. “I never nag. You give shitty advice whether I want it or not.”

    Glorfindel grinned insolently. “Okay, you got me there. What happened?”

    “Nothing,” Bard grumbled. “That’s the worst part; nothing has to even happen for him to get to me. I don’t know. He makes me so angry.”

    “You don’t look very angry. You look more like a kicked dog, actually,” Glorfindel pointed out.

    “I can’t read him anymore. The more I try to figure out what he’s thinking, the less I understand. It used to be easy, but now… I don’t know.”

    “You’re wasting your time there,” Glorfindel said simply. “He’s stubborn and unpleasant.”

    “Yeah, but I like him,” said Bard. “I can’t help that.”

    “Neither can he, apparently, but he’s still being a jerk about it,” said Glorfindel.

    Bard sat up straight at this. “What do you mean?”

    “Don’t be an idiot,” Glorfindel said sagely, looking up from his book at last. “Thranduil obviously likes you back. He’s just being difficult.”

    Though Bard’s heart flew into a panic, he kept a steady head. It was rare for him not to react to instinct, but the whole situation with Thranduil had tossed him into a pit of self-doubt and contempt, so his reaction time wasn't what it used to be.

    “I don’t think so. I mean, what reason would he have to fancy me?”

    Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “People rarely need a reason. Besides that, you’re a pretty decent guy.”

    “I’ve put a guy in hospital before,” Bard said.

    “Yeah, and Thranduil supposedly killed his parents. I’d still fuck you both.”

    Bard wrinkled his nose. “Pass.”

    “Not at the same time, of course.”

    “Where’s your off switch?”

    “Should I make a Deadpool reference here?”

    Bard laughed. “No. I want to hear some evidence to your claim.”

    Glorfindel leaned forward importantly. “Thranduil practically told me he likes you, dude. Whatever bullshit you’re going through right now is all his fault, if you ask me. He’s just avoiding the issue because he’s worried it’s not going to be worth it.”

    It felt like Bard had been punched somewhere in the region of his stomach, but he opted to ignore it for now. All his emotions were rubbed too raw and he had to manage them somehow before he cracked.

    “Right, so he doesn’t think I’m worth it,” he said.

    Glorfindel made a face. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

    “Then how would you put it?”

    “Shit, I don’t know. Do I look like Thranduil? Why don’t you ask him?”

    “He doesn’t exactly give me straightforward answers. When I asked him why he kissed me, he just dodged the question.”

    Glorfindel slammed a hand on the table at this, making Nimrodel jump in her seat next to him. “Hold up! He kissed you?”

    Bard was surprised. “What? Yeah, I thought you knew this.”

    “No!” Glorfindel looked genuinely upset. He crossed his arms peevishly. “Nobody tells me anything! What the fuck! As if you guys kissed!”

    “Yeah, well, it sucked, so there’s not much to tell,” said Bard moodily.

    “He’s a bad kisser, huh?”

    Bard laughed again. “That’s not what I mean. Like, the situation sucked. He wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. When I confronted him, he said he didn’t know why he did it and that it was a mistake.”

    Glorfindel flinched. “Ouch. Why do you keep hanging onto him? He’s being an asshole.”

    “Beats me,” Bard sighed. “I liked being friends. I thought it would be nice to be something more. But I haven’t fancied anyone in a long time. I guess I just got overexcited.”

    “Nah, you’re not the problem here. Thranduil’s a lost cause,” Glorfindel concluded.

    “It’s my nature to be the problem, actually,” Bard said, half to himself. “First Nellas, now you. Everyone is giving me weird advice today.”

    “Did you hear about the sponsor coming to our next match?” Glorfindel cut in eagerly. “I flipped when Nellas told me. Do you know which university the scholarship is for?”

    “No.”

    “Gondolin! I still have a chance to get in!”

    “You’ll be with Ecthelion, right?”

    Glorfindel blushed at this, smirking almost bashfully, if it were possible. “Yeah.”

    “I suppose university gets in the way of a lot of things,” said Bard thoughtfully. “Maybe Thranduil’s right. Maybe it isn’t worth it.”

    “You’re both useless,” said Glorfindel sharply. “If neither of you make a move, then it will all amount to nothing. You gotta get in there, man.”

    “I thought Thranduil was a lost cause two minutes ago,” said Bard.

    “Yeah, he is. But you aren’t. Just keep pushing. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

 

    Bard thought long and hard about Glorfindel’s suggestion. The week passed in a blur of disorganisation. Bard pinballed between climbing his mountain of homework and trying to think of a way to talk to Thranduil without making things more tense. They were balanced too precariously on the edge of falling apart completely, and Bard didn’t want to be the one to give them a push in the wrong direction. He knew Thranduil had his limits. He knew Oropher was right about the way he was.

    However, when Bard’s birthday arrived, he had other things to consider, and the issue with Thranduil took a back seat. If he couldn’t come up with a fast solution, he would simply have to play the long game. If Bard and Thranduil had to agree on one thing concerning their relationship, it was that they could not have chosen a worse time to deliberate it. With exams fast approaching and the corresponding pressure mounting, Bard and Thranduil barely had the time or energy to look secretively at each other, much less talk about their feelings. Bard had to admit that school had a way of putting things into perspective. He was under so much strain in regards to his university preferences and study options that he was starting to think that maybe Thranduil had some sense in staying friends. How could they possibly make anything work if school and career paths immediately drove them apart? If Thranduil didn’t want anything to come of their apparently mutual feelings for one other, then perhaps it was best for Bard to respect that.

    On Friday morning, Bard woke to dozens of notifications wishing him a happy birthday. He rolled onto his back in bed, savouring the warmth of his duvet and the wonder of his friends. He smiled at all the messages. He couldn’t remember the last time so many people were excited for his birthday.

    His mother was in the kitchen when he went downstairs. She squeezed him tightly, peppering him with kisses.

    “How do you feel?” she said.

    “Like death warmed up,” said Bard, reaching for the coffee pot groggily.

    “But you’re eighteen!” Sian hugged him again, trapping his arms to his sides. “When did you get so big?”

    Bard heaved, taking care not to spill the coffee in his hand. “Ma!”

    “Do you want to know what your present is?”

    “Sure.” Bard turned around to face his mum, half expecting her to be holding something behind her back. But there was no indication of a gift that he could see. All the same, Sian looked excited.

    “Well, your da and I have been putting some money away for you over the years. Now that you’re eighteen, we thought you might like to use it to buy a car.”

    Bard’s stomach flipped. “Seriously? But – but shouldn’t you keep the money? We kind of need it…”

    Sian held up a finger to silence him. “We have enough. You’re a good kid, Bard. You shouldn’t have to make any more sacrifices for us.”

    Bard agreed. But rather than settle for a car, he managed to convince his parents to let him get a motorcycle instead. He wasn’t keen to learn how to drive with his dad in the passenger seat, and Thranduil’s idea from mid-term break had kind of stuck with him. In the end, his parents didn’t really contest the counter offer as it meant they wouldn’t have to use all the money they had saved.

    As far as birthdays went, Bard enjoyed his eighteenth. It was quiet, and since he wasn’t having any kind of celebration, the football team and some others congregated in the cafeteria at lunch to eat store-bought cake and shower Bard with wishes. He also got a couple of gifts. Thankfully, he didn't receive anything from Thranduil. Of course, Bard could easily think of something he wanted, but it was the one thing Thranduil wasn’t willing to give, so he was happy to get nothing at all.

    However, the relief of this didn’t last long. When Bard returned to school on Monday morning, Thranduil was waiting for him at his locker, a perfectly wrapped present in hand.

    “You know, you make it really hard not to feel like I owe you for giving me all this stuff,” Bard muttered, opening his locker noisily.

    “I didn’t spend any money this time,” Thranduil said. “Just my valuable time and effort.”

    Bard made a disapproving face, but accepted the gift. It was wide and flat. He might have thought it was a book if it wasn’t so stiff. He opened it cautiously.

    “A photo album?” he said, turning it over. It was black with silver lining around the edges.

    “I had a lot of photos I thought you might like,” Thranduil explained. “It’s to help you remember all the memories you made while you were here.”

    Bard blinked, unable to determine the strange feeling coming up from his stomach. “This is – um – thank you.”

    Thranduil smiled. “You like it? There are still lots of empty spaces, so you can add more photos.”

    Bard flicked through the album, watching the pictures of himself and his friends dance back at him, smiling and blurry. He grinned.

    “This is great,” he said. 

    “Did you have a good birthday?” Thranduil asked.

    Bard closed the album. “Yeah, it was okay. Mum and dad are buying me a motorbike.”

    “Really? You took my advice, huh?”

    Bard tried not to blush. “Sure. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. We’re going to go check out a couple on Wednesday after school.”

    “I can’t wait to see you on a bike,” Thranduil said. He glanced down at his phone. “We should head to class.”

    “Yeah… I’ll catch up,” said Bard.

    Thranduil waved and left for their Form room while Bard dithered and flushed behind his locker. He hated the way Thranduil was too sincere sometimes. There was no in-between with him; he was either dead honest, or deliberately vague. It was too much for Bard to cope with, at any rate. Knowing Thranduil might actually like him back was laying waste to his composure. Even the lightest smile had Bard breathless, so words like that had him beside himself.

    He was weak. There was no other way to put it. And he couldn’t just stand around and let Thranduil have his way. Not this time. If Bard had even the slightest chance, he had to take it. He had to show Thranduil that they could make it work somehow.


	17. one, two, three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil attends the school football match and Bard makes it count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The football chapter has arrived, and it lives up to its purpose.  
> Also, this might be disappointing for some people, but I didn't particularly feel like including the dwarves in this fic. There are enough characters as it is, and they won't be a focus at any point after this chapter. All I'll say is that Thorin is 100% Erebor's football captain.

* * *

  

**I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.**

 

* * *

  

The day of the football match had arrived. The snow was finally letting up, and the pitch was cleared of the remaining slush in preparation. The anticipation at Rhovanion was mounting. They were eager to win against their biggest rival, for there was no school they hated more than Erebor. The pressure on the football team was heavy and aggressive, and Thranduil was curious to see how Bard would fair for his first ever match.

    Thranduil left early on Saturday afternoon to get good seats with Ecthelion. When he arrived, Niënor and Mithrellas were already in the front row, reserving spots for a couple of others while more students and various parents filled up the rest of the stands. Egalmoth and Ecthelion were there too, and they waved Thranduil over.

    “There can’t possibly be any sense in having football season during winter. It’s too cold to be sitting out here,” Egalmoth grumbled, shivering in his coat and scarf.

    “I don’t get it either,” said Thranduil. “There was such a big gap between the last game and this one. Did any of the other schools play against each other?”

    Egalmoth nodded. “Erebor lost to Eriador, and Rhûn lost to Harad. If we win today, we verse Eriador. If we lose, then it’s Rhûn."

    Thranduil frowned. “And who are we playing today?”

    “Erebor.”

    “Right. Those guys.”

    “I don’t like them much. They’re so… rustic.”

    “I guess going to school in the mountains doesn’t leave much room for civilised behaviour like showering or chewing with your mouth closed,” Thranduil laughed.

    The other two smirked.

    “They don’t even look like they go to high school. Their new captain has got to be pushing twenty-five at the rate he’s going," said Ecthelion.

    "I thought he was their coach when I first saw him," added Egalmoth.

    “Can you save my spot? I’ll be back soon,” Thranduil said.

    He turned and crossed the pitch to the changing room. It was a sunny day, but still disgustingly cold, and Thranduil quickened his pace across the grass and around the back of the stands. The door to the locker room was slightly ajar, and he could hear voices coming from within.

    It was warm inside and everyone was still getting dressed, pulling jersey’s on over long-sleeved tops or tying their shoes over two pairs of socks. Finduilas was with Nimrodel in front of the only mirror, braiding back her curly hair. They saw Thranduil in the glass as he walked in and waved. Gil-Galad, too, offered Thranduil a tired but friendly nod from behind his mug of tea, and Elros gave him a very exhausted finger-guns as he dug his shoes out of his bag.

    Bard was there too, and Thranduil couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on the fact that he was shirtless and grinning beautifully. It was unfair how easily he let down Thranduil’s defences like that. Like they hadn’t been there at all.

    Glorfindel snapped his fingers in front of Thranduil’s face. “See anything you like?”

    Thranduil lowered his eyes, biting back a grin of his own. “Shut up.”

    Glorfindel looked smug as he strapped on a captain’s armband over his jersey. “What are you doing here?”

    “Wishing you guys luck. How are you feeling?”

    “Well, we could be a bit more enthusiastic.” Glorfindel surveyed his half-ready team with precious little optimism. “But it’s good to have Bard back with us.”

    At the sound of his name, Bard's head turned as it emerged from the neck of his jersey. He spotted Thranduil and came over. “You’re here! I thought you didn’t come for football games.”

    “Sure. I have to contribute to the school spirit,” Thranduil replied. “Are you nervous?”

    Bard laughed cynically. “Yeah. This is how I go. Death by crippling anxiety and electrolytes.” He held up a bottle of blue sports drink.

    “You’re the best Striker we’ve ever had, and that counts Celebrimbor,” Glorfindel cut in firmly. “You’re going to win us back that cup at the end of the year.”

    Bard paled. “No pressure or anything.”

    “You’ll do great,” Thranduil assured him. “I should go. I don’t know if they can save my seat forever. Good luck out there!”

    The team thanked him, and Thranduil started to head back. But he only made it just outside the door when he heard a voice calling him back. Bard hurried out, pulling a jumper on over his jersey.

    “What’s up?” Thranduil said.

    Bard dithered for a moment. “I just. Wanted to thank you. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for all your help over break. I really like being on the team. I’m glad to be back.”

    Thranduil smiled. “I’m glad you’re back too.”

    The silence piled in around them, just like it always seemed to do these days. Bard stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jumper and bounced on the balls of his feet.

    “Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” he finally said.

    “I already did,” said Thranduil, frowning.

    Bard raised an eyebrow. “Aren't you going to kiss me?" 

    Thranduil’s heart temporarily failed him, and he took an involuntary step back. “I’m – I’m not going to do that.”

    “Just for good luck,” Bard insisted, closing the gap again.

    Thranduil hated that he wanted to; hated that all it took was for Bard to ask. As much as he persisted to forget the kiss from winter break, it was all he had been able to think about lately. He had forgotten what Bard’s lips felt like. He wanted desperately to remember.

    But weren’t they in enough of a mess already? If this kept up, they would be no better than Glorfindel and Ecthelion, and look how they had turned out. Thranduil didn’t want to resurface and have nothing to help him swim to shore.

    Bard eventually appeared to recognise a rejection when he saw one.

    “Never mind, then,” he said. “It probably wouldn’t help anyway.”

    He turned and began to return to the changing room. Thranduil knew at once that he was falling for a petty trick, but he only needed half a second of blind impulse not to care about it. He grabbed Bard by the crook of his elbow and pulled him back, crushing their lips together.

    Bard grinned against Thranduil’s mouth, looping his arms around his neck and bringing them closer. It was awkward at first, their noses bumping and their eyes only half closed. But then it was slow and easy and they caught each other again after every breath.

    They stayed like that for a long time, hidden by the shade of the locker room block, the lowering sun brushing the tops of their heads. For a while, there was nothing else left to think about. There were no hesitations or avoidances. There was just Bard with his back against the wall and his hands in Thranduil’s hair.

    “So, like, there’s a game about to start.”

    Bard and Thranduil broke apart so fast they got whiplash. Bard actually winced, his eyes watering as he put his hand to the back of his head where he had cracked it on the wall. Glorfindel stood to the side of them, arms folded with what might have been disapproval, but he was too amused for that.

    “Um. Good luck,” Thranduil blurted, and he hurried off before he had to face the humiliation any longer.

    All around the football field, the stands were filling up. Those who had made the journey from Erebor had congregated to the seats on the far right, while Rhovanion scowled at them from the left. They met one another in the centre, but there was a crooked line all the way down where they refused to sit too close.

    Thranduil returned to the others, still flustered and bleathless.

    There was still time before the game started. Niënor and Mithrellas were playing a game of poker to entertain themselves, Ecthelion watching from over the latter’s shoulder, trying to help her win. Egalmoth was playing a game on his mobile phone.

    Thranduil opened his own phone and saw, to his dismay, that Glorfindel had sent him a text. 

> _You sure do kiss Bard a lot for someone who doesn’t fancy him._

    Thranduil deleted the message.

    How could he come back from something like that? After all the care he had put into not leading Bard on, and they had just come full circle. He would have to start again; convincing Bard – and himself – that it was a bad idea for them to be together.

    Out on the pitch, the football teams were finally traipsing in. The girls put down their poker game and cheered with the rest of the audience. Thranduil could see Bard towards the front of the group with Glorfindel, both of them smiling and talking to each other. Glorfindel looked around, and when he spotted his friends at the front of the stands, he waved energetically. Bard waved too.

    To either side of the field, students were attaching netting to the goalposts. Feren, wearing bright yellow as Rhovanion’s goalkeeper, left the team to go help while the others all took their positions on the pitch. Bard was close to the opposition’s goal with Lethuin. He sneered at Erebor’s goalie. Evidently he felt more confident.

    Next to him, Thranduil could see that Ecthelion looked worried.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “Glorfindel’s nervous,” he said. “Over there. The scout from Gondolin is here.”

    Thranduil averted his gaze from Bard to see a man standing by the reserve benches. He was holding a clipboard and wearing a hard expression on his face.

    “There’s a scout here?” he said.

    Ecthelion nodded. “He has two scholarships, apparently. Glorfindel is determined to get one. I just hope the team will help him out.”

    “You want him to get that scholarship?” asked Thranduil.

    “Very much,” said Ecthelion.

    The game was starting. Celeborn had taken Glorfindel aside, but the rest of the team were warming up, scowling at their opponents and sizing up the referee, who had been brought in from the local football club. Thranduil watched as Glorfindel nodded to Celeborn, and then went to take his position in the centre of the field with the referee and Erebor’s captain, who's jersey read number 4.

    At the turn of the whistle, the ball was dropping between the two captains. Glorfindel swiped it, using his old trick of kicking it back so that Gil-Galad could take it before sending it forward to the goal.

    Thranduil lost track of the ball almost immediately after that. Every time he found it again, it was already in the possession of someone else – green, blue, green, blue. He only knew where it was when Bard had it, because that's who he best recgonised, and  it was when everyone in the stands were on the edge of their seats, urging him to strike. But Bard lost the ball to the opposition often. He looked overwhelmed and anxious. There was a lot of pressure stacked against him for his first ever match.

    Thranduil was supposed to be taking pictures for the yearbook, but it was hard to concentrate on what was happening through the lens of a camera. He tried following the ball through the eyepiece, but it was moving too fast. He was too invested this time around.

    After a nail-biting twenty minutes of the ball pinballing between players, Erebor scored the first goal. They jumped on their striker in victory. Glorfindel flew into a passion, screaming at Feren.

    “He practically walked in! Pay attention!”

    Nimrodel ran over and dragged him back to the centre, looking stern. The scout, too, didn’t look impressed by the display.

    “He’s not usually this tense,” Niënor commented airily. 

    “He thinks it’s bad luck to not get the first goal,” Ecthelion explained.

    The game was back in play, and Mablung had the ball. He wasn’t particularly big, but he was hard to catch. By the time someone tried to tackle him, he had passed the ball to Beleg, who never lost possession thanks to his size. He passed it onto Nimrodel and she put on a burst of speed, dribbling the ball down the pitch to Bard and Lethuin. Lethuin had two guys on him, so Nimrodel swept to the side and shot the ball down to Bard. He caught it on his chest, let it fall, and then focused on getting Erebor off him as well. He had to evade the ball from under their feet. His shoes were a blur. Then, he kicked the ball forward some more, threw one of the guys off him, and went for the goal.

    The ball went in, and the left half of the stands went wild. Glorfindel and several others ran across the pitch and arrested Bard to the ground with happiness. Erebor’s goalie was fuming.

    The match got dirtier after that. Erebor weren’t pleased about Rhovanion’s quick comeback and they set about taking full advantage of their bulk. They were bigger than the home school, and it was time to make good use of it. The smaller players like Nimrodel and Mablung were easily grounded and the rest of the team were having a hard time protecting them from the particularly aggressive boys. Nimrodel always came back up spitting and covered in mud.

    To Thranduil – and everyone else’s – annoyance, none of the tackles were being treated as fouls. No one was falling hard enough to justify a penalty, and faking an injury wasn’t about to work, because Beleg tried and no one believed him (who would?).

    It took a blow to Finduilas’ head for the referee to finally blow his whistle. He held up a yellow card to a particularly heavy-set boy from Erebor. Meanwhile, Gil-Galad went spare with rage and had to be held back from starting a fight.

    “That’s why you shouldn’t have girls on your team!” one of the Erebor boys jeered.

    Glorfindel was seething, but he ignored the boy in favour of seeing if Finduilas was alright. She looked dazed, but otherwise unhurt. She took the penalty.

    “They’re playing extra dirty,” Mithrellas commented sourly. “The new captain doesn’t hold back his team.”

    “Well, look at the size of him!” Niënor exclaimed, pointing to the boy with the number 4 jersey. “He probably thinks anyone can take a hit the same way he can.”

    The ball was back on the right side of the field again, making its way down to the goal at Glorfindel’s feet. He was particularly good at evading and, despite his short stature, was difficult to intimidate and tackle. He kept his elbows up, concentrating hard on the ball. Then, with a confident kick, he launched it into the air towards Lethuin. Lethuin butted it with his head towards the goal, but it landed right into the goalie’s hands. The crowd groaned.

    Suddenly, the referee blew his whistle. The clock on the scoreboard read half-time and the two teams dispersed to either side of the field. The sun was beginning to properly set now, casting the school in a glow of orange.

    “We should go,” said Ecthelion.

    Thranduil stood up and together they jumped the fence in front of the stands. The team were ahead near the benches, dropping to the grass and passing around water and sports drinks while Celeborn drilled them impatiently.

    Bard was leaning against the alcove, his jersey and socks splattered with mud and his hair damp with sweat. Thranduil snuck passed Celeborn and stood beside him. It was icy cold, but Bard radiated heat.

    “Hey,” he said.

    “How are you doing?”

    “Hm. Not too great. Busted my knee. I could use another kiss,” Bard replied.

    Thranduil sighed. “Okay, I’m leaving now.”

    Bard laughed, grabbing Thranduil by the arm to keep him there. “I’m just teasing. Thank you for earlier. I was really nervous and – and it helped.”

    Thranduil said nothing. He wasn’t under the impression that he had helped Bard back there. It felt like a moment of weakness more than anything else.

    “How’s the view from the stands?” Bard asked.

    “Rough. That goal you scored was really spectacular, though.”

    If Thranduil wasn’t mistaken, Bard went a little pink. “Thanks.”

    “I'll leave you to it,” Thranduil said. “Whatever Celeborn’s talking about sounds important.”

    “I can’t ask for a little more luck?”

    Bard looked bashful this time. The colour in his complexion hadn’t died down yet, so he was unfairly pretty, even when he was filthy and exhausted.

    Thranduil hesitated, glancing to the side to see if anyone was watching them. No one was. With one hand on Bard's shoulder and the other at his jaw, Thranduil leaned in and kissed Bard. It felt like he had taken the sun in his chest to keep him warm forever.

    “You make it really hard to say no to you,” Thranduil murmured when they broke apart, their faces still close.

    “That’s the plan,” Bard said, unable to fully bite back his grin.

    Thranduil smiled in spite of himself, drawing back now. “Make it count, okay?”

    Bard nodded, and Thranduil left the field, returning to his seat next to Egalmoth. Ecthelion joined them a moment later, looking a little stony.

    “Glorfindel’s losing confidence. I hope it doesn’t cost him the scholarship,” he said.

    “He’s playing well,” Niënor assured. “And, if Erebor keep up what they’re doing, that’ll be two scholarships for Rho. There's no way one of them will get it with how they're playing.”

    “Maybe you’re right. Bard is kind of outshining everyone else, though,” Ecthelion said, smirking a little at Thranduil.

    Thranduil said nothing, but returned his gaze to the team by the benches, still listening to Celeborn. Bard was on the grass now, strapping his knee with bright pink tape. Beside him, Finduilas was holding an icepack to her forehead and slouching against her brother.

    “They look pretty beat up, huh?” commented Mithrellas.

    “They’ll pull through. One more goal,” said Egalmoth.

    The referee blew his whistle, and the two teams got to their feet, stretching and wincing. Erebor didn’t seem phased by the injuries they had caused, but they did look tired. Putting so much effort into knocking down Rhovanion had evidently taken its toll. If they continued to do so during the second half, they wouldn’t have energy left to score goals. And if there was one thing Rhovanion was good at, it was how to handle a fight.

    The players returned to their positions. Bard was flexing his knee and flinching every now and then. Thranduil worried for him.

    The referee sparked his whistled and Glorfindel went for the ball in the centre. But Erebor’s captain tripped him and took possession instead. Beleg was fast onto him while Glorfindel scrambled to his feet, spitting dirt out of his mouth.

    It was madness on the field. Determined not to be intimidated, Rhovanion were spurred into reckless abandon. They took risks and started fighting back, tackling harder and grouping up to take the ball. Lethuin and Bard each had a clear shots of the goal, but the goalie caught it every time they went for it, causing frustration to mount.

    Feren was doing equally well with guarding Rhovanion’s goal. He was the youngest on the team, but easily the biggest next to Beleg, and letting the ball in on the first goal had been a rare occurrence for him. He saved the score four times, to the point where Erebor’s striker lost his composure and started screaming at him, earning his team another yellow card.

    There was five minutes left, and no one had scored another goal. Both teams were desperate now and tempers were flaring. Thranduil kept an almost constant eye on Bard, watching the number 9, noticing how much he was struggling with his knee.

    He had the ball again, passed on from Elros. Erebor quickly made to wall Bard, for his shots were too close to warrant not trying extra hard to block him from the goal. He evaded, kicking the ball to Lethuin, who dribbled it for a while and then kicked it back. Bard managed to get around the group of boys, but not before one of them decided to take advantage of his injury and kick him in the knee.

    Bard fell in a sprawl, clutching his knee, and left side of the stands burst into cries of outrage. The referee blew his whistle, and held up a red card.

    “He’s not going to be able to take the penalty,” Ecthelion moaned. “That's his right knee.”

    “Bard favours his left,” Thranduil cut in quickly. “He’s left handed.”

    “Doesn’t matter. He needs his right leg to mount the kick.”

    Out on the pitch, Bard was getting to his feet. He had one hand to his chin and the other outstretched to take the ball from the referee. He caught it to his chest, and then set it on the ground to the side of the goal where he had fallen. The boys from Erebor were already creating another wall, determined to block as much of the goal as they dared as well as intimidate. But Bard didn’t look concerned. He spat a mouthful of blood, stretched his knee, and took several steps back to line up the shot.

    The entire audience was deadly silent. Thranduil had left his seat, gripping the bar of the fence in anticipation. He knew Bard could feel everyone’s eyes on him; Thranduil could feel it too.

    Bard waited for the whistle, then took another few seconds to prepare himself. He knocked the grass behind him with his toes – one, two, three times. Thranduil counted – and then he ran forward. He kicked the ball, and it soared through the air, over the heads of opposition, passed the fingertips of the goalie, and into the net.

    The crowd roared. Bard stood stock-still, clearly stunned, until he was buried under a wave of white and green teammates. The referee blew his whistle again, and the last two minutes of the game fell back into play.

    Erebor had admitted defeat. There was no way they would score another goal – much less two – when Rhovanion were reeling from such a good penalty. They fell heavily onto defence, grins on their faces and victory in their eyes. The game ended, and Erebor stormed off the pitch.

    Thranduil went back onto the grass to congratulate the team with everyone else. They were still clapping Bard on the shoulders, messing up his hair, and yelling their happiness at him. He had made a truly exceptional comeback, and the evidence of his pride was all over his face. Wide eyes, and a grin that even made Thranduil smile.

    By the alcove, Glorfindel was with Finduilas, speaking to the Gondolin scout. He was handing them letters.

    Thranduil glanced at Ecthelion to his right. He was holding a hand to his mouth, caught between astonishment and amazement. When Glorfindel shook hands with the scout after Finduilas, the first thing he did was look around for Ecthelion. Thranduil left them to celebrate alone.

    “Thanks for the good luck,” said a voice behind him.

    Thranduil turned to see Bard, dirt-smattered and smug. He was carefully lopsided, apparently unable to put his body weight on his knee. He didn’t seem to mind it, though. The victory was worth it.

    “I’m glad you made use of it,” Thranduil countered. “How’s your knee?”

    “Lousy. The adrenaline is wearing off, so I can really feel it now.”

    On his way to the showers with the rest of the team, Glorfindel called out to them, his arm slung over Ecthelion’s shoulder lazily. “Oi! Party at my house!”

    “I’ll come by later,” Bard said. “I should probably get my knee looked at first.”

    “Do you want me to see?” Thranduil offered.

    Bard nodded, and the two of them followed the team to the changing room, Bard limping heavily. All the showers were running, hissing water and steam down the short corridor between the two rooms. Bard dropped himself onto a bench and Thranduil sat down beside him, patting his lap so that Bard could prop up his leg.

    “How does it look, doc?” Bard said dramatically.

    Thranduil bit back a smile as he peeled off the poorly applied tape on Bard’s knee.

    “It’s probably fine. You should shower first, and then put more tape on it,” Thranduil said.

    “Doctor’s orders?” Bard inquired.

    Thranduil laughed this time. “Stop.”

    Bard took his leg down, wincing slightly. He sighed happily.

    “Will you come to the party?”

    “What do you think?” said Thranduil.

    “No? Figures. You never do anything fun,” Bard said.

    “I guess I don’t. You’ll have to have fun for me.”

    They sat quietly now, Bard tired but content, and Thranduil more than a little lost on what to say to fill the silence. He was proud of Bard for playing so well. He was glad they had won. Considering it had been Bard’s first football match, Thranduil knew he must be feeling immensely pleased with himself, and he couldn’t help but believe it was partly thanks to all the good luck.

    Thranduil eventually said goodbye. He was worried about what Bard might say or ask in the aftermath of such adrenaline. He had been bold enough to ask for a kiss without it, so Thranduil didn’t want to hang around for any more questions. He wasn’t brave enough to turn them down if they came.

    He wondered what would become of them after all the uncertainty; after all the moments of weakness when they had shared too much, or not enough, and then lost each other to the chances they never took. Thranduil knew it was his fault that they couldn’t get passed this awkward, inconclusive point. But there was no helping it. He couldn't sacrifice his future for temporary feelings, because no matter how much they liked each other, Thranduil would be gone by the end of the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make another note concerning the chapter title. It has to do with Bard tapping the ground before he takes the shot. Three for every time Thranduil has kissed him.  
>   
> So, school is back tomorrow (yikes), and I've got a lot on my plate for the next week or so (work, activities that involve leaving the house and the like), and I've just started sigriel week. Basically, I'm forewarning you all now that I might not be able to get the next chapter in at the usual time. This is by no means a hiatus. Just a slight pause while I attempt to organise my life. Thank you all for being patient with me, and thank you for your comments and kudos and endless encouragement!


	18. critical thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard makes a move, and Thranduil goes in the wrong direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first off, I wanna apologise for falling off the radar like that. I know I said I was only going to take a short break, but it turned into a month-long hiatus because I got stuck and grumpy. As a result, this chapter didn't go at all how I wanted it to and I'm really not happy with how it turned out. But, I'm just going to have to deal with it because I got really tired of being stuck and I'm desperate to move things along.  
>   
> I'm not too sure when the next chapter will be. I signed up for the Barduil Mini Bang, so I have to work on that a bit, and I'm juggling a few other activities as well. But I'll set up a regular updating schedule as soon as I can.  
>   
> I would say 'enjoy the chapter' but I wouldn't be surprised if you don't lol.

* * *

  

**I hope it’s love. I’m trying really hard to make it love.**

 

* * *

 

On the Tuesday following the football match, it was Valentine’s Day. It dawned on Bard only on Monday that Thranduil would no doubt hold some sort of expectation towards this, whether it be a gift, or the promise of a date, or a gesture sappy enough to make him smile. Something, in any case, and Bard was drawing short straws at every turn. He didn’t know exactly what Thranduil was expecting, but he sure as hell didn’t want to fuck it up. No. This was something he had to do right. For once.

    “Is it really that important?” said Glorfindel during their Chemistry class. “Valentine’s Day is just a pitiful excuse for straight guys to pamper their girlfriends and make up for all their shitty behaviour over the rest of the year.”

    Bard glanced over at Thranduil, who was paired with Ecthelion at a different table. Bard had purposely asked Glorfindel to be his partner for that lesson in order to bully him into helping.

    “I don’t want to screw this up,” he said dully. “We haven’t really spoken since the game, so I want to – I don’t know – do something meaningful. Show him how much I really do like him, I guess.”

    Bard mostly didn’t want to embarrass himself, or make things more awkward as a result of being too straightforward. But he also couldn’t completely ignore the fact that something was _finally_ happening between him and Thranduil.

    “Why not just go out for dinner?” Glorfindel eventually prompted. “You guys are still kind of wobbly, so you wouldn’t want to overwhelm him.”

    “It’s me who’s kind of feeling overwhelmed right now,” Bard muttered. “Dinner seems a bit fancy, though. And, besides, everywhere will be booked by now.”

    “Coffee, then.”

    Bard considered the café in the city; the one he and Thranduil had snuck into to avoid his old school friends. Would the nostalgia be there? For Bard, certainly. That mid-term break with Thranduil was a week he would always remember fondly. But did Thranduil feel the same? Bard wanted to think so.

    “You have to stop frowning like that,” Glorfindel pointed out. “You’re giving me palpitations and I need to concentrate on. This. Stupid. Formula.”

    Bard rearranged his expression and, unable to resist (because when could he ever?), he looked over at Thranduil again. Thranduil was looking too, and he smiled shyly before returning his attention to his textbook. Bard’s heart did a backflip.

    “What are you and Ecthelion doing?” he said to Glorfindel in a final attempt to weasel out a good idea.

    Glorfindel took a moment to carefully measure a vial of water.

    “Nothing. He has to study for his Math test and I have an interview with the Vice Principal at Gondolin.”

    “Interview?” said Bard.

    Glorfindel nodded. “Finduilas is coming too. It’s more of an induction. They need to sort everything out for our scholarship.”

    “I still can’t believe you got it,” said Bard. “Some higher power is watching over you, mate.”

    “Shit, I know. I’m still processing it. But I’m glad to have Nellas off my case about uni.” Glorfindel laughed. “Have you given her your preferences yet?”

    Bard’s stomach plummeted. “No.”

    Glorfindel offered him a sympathetic look. “There’s still time.”

    Bard felt like that time was quickly running out. The end of February was already looking a bit too close for comfort, and he still had no plans on offering Nellas his university preferences. There was still the issue of what he actually wanted to do. No matter how many courses he perused online, nothing seemed to appeal to him. It was like digging for a bone that wasn’t there.

    However, at that moment, he had more important things to think about. Like how he was supposed to ask Thranduil on a date without making a complete fool of himself. Bard didn’t know why, but he was ten times more nervous than he had been on Saturday when he had been bold enough to ask for that kiss. Somehow, going on a date felt more conclusive than just kissing. He could probably kiss Thranduil any old time, but a date was practically making them official, and that scared Bard just as much as it thrilled him.

    He plucked up whatever courage he could muster at lunch time. Thranduil had two free periods afterwards, so Bard figured he would be in the library. Too anxious to even eat anything, he went over after his own free periods with Gil-Galad in the school gym. Sure enough, Thranduil was there, slumped back in a chair chewing the end of a pen. He had what looked like a practice exam on the desk in front of him.

     “You’re doing mock exams already?” Bard remarked, dropping his bag on the floor by the desk.

    Thranduil sighed, setting his pen down. “I have a Critical Thinking test next month. It only counts for ten percent of my total score, but I have to do well. I’m probably not going to get a very good grade on my thesis. It’s not even finished, and I wrote a pretty irrelevant four-thousand words on bees.”

    Bard wanted to laugh, but he was too choked up with nerves to do anything but wheeze.

    Thranduil stood up from the desk. “I need to get notes on past tests.”

    Bard dithered for a moment as he watched Thranduil head towards the back of the library. He knew that, if he kept delaying the question, it would never come, and he would regret his hesitation. And he was determined this time. He couldn’t let himself (or Thranduil) down.

    He followed Thranduil to the darkest part of the library; to the shelves of books and binders about past exams that nobody read or borrowed. The dust was thick here, acclimatising to the pages, and there were no windows.

     Bard took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

    Thranduil didn’t seemed to catch onto the tone in Bard’s voice, distracted as he was with his finger running along the spines of the books as he read the titles.

    “Sure.”

    Bard pressed on, privately pleased that he didn’t have to make eye contact just yet. “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and, um, I was wondering if you wanted to, like, go out. Or something.”

    Thranduil’s finger paused on a binder, and then his hand curled back into a careful fist.

    “Shit,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I was afraid this would happen.”

    Bard thought he felt his heart drop out of his chest. Thranduil looked upset. He wasn’t supposed to be upset. Bard had been so sure to read the situation correctly.

    “What do you mean?” he demanded, trying to remain calm.

    Thranduil bit his lip, turning now to face Bard. “I was afraid you would get the wrong idea.”

    “The – the wrong idea about what?”

    “About us,” Thranduil said.

    Bard couldn’t help it. It probably made him sound like a jerk, but he laughed. “Seriously? After all that on Saturday, and you’re still going to reject me? What the fuck did you kiss me for, then?”

    He didn’t shout. In the library, he didn’t dare, but there was no stopping the severity in his tone. It probably wasn’t reasonable for him to get angry – Thranduil wasn’t obligated to say yes – but for so much to have gone wrong between them since they had met, surely it was time for something to go right.

    “You asked me to kiss you,” Thranduil said. He didn’t challenge Bard’s anger. His voice was calm and apologetic. Bard wasn’t sure if he preferred it that way or not.

    “I thought you liked me,” he contested.

    Thranduil turned scarlet at this, his eyes overbright. Bard hated that he still looked pretty; hated that he still wanted to kiss him, as if another kiss might make everything normal again.

    “Just – just because I like you, doesn’t mean I can go out with you,” Thranduil said.

    Bard made a face. “But that’s what people do when they like each other!”

    Thranduil pushed back his hair again, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “I know! What, you think this doesn’t suck for me as well?”

    “You’re the one making it suck! You’re complicating something that should have been simple from the beginning,” said Bard.

    “I didn’t mean to, okay? I had to make a decision, and choosing you…”

    Thranduil faltered, blinking rapidly to prevent any tears. Bard waited for him, arms folded, his heart skipping too many beats.

    “I wanted to choose you. Really, I did. But I had to think logically about the situation that would put me in. I shouldn’t have led you on, especially on Saturday, but I just didn’t want you to be unhappy.”

    Bard unfolded his arms, letting them fall to his sides.

    “But why couldn’t you choose me?” he muttered.

    Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. His cheeks were still dusted with pink, and his hair was messy around his face, and Bard could only think how deeply unfair it was that he had to be turned down by someone so perfect.

    “My application got accepted yesterday. So long as my grades keep up and I do well in my exams, I’ll – I’ll be leaving at the end of the summer.”

    Bard felt a bit sick.

    “You’re leaving?” he repeated faintly.

    “I applied for Tirion University,” Thranduil said softly, unable to meet Bard’s eye.

    “That’s… on the other side of the world,” Bard said.

    “Yeah.”

    His head was spinning. “You’d leave? Just like that? What about term breaks? Holidays? You – you wouldn’t come back for those?”

    When Bard’s eyes finally met Thranduil’s, the expression on his face broke his heart.

    “Sure, sometimes,” Thranduil said. “But would that be enough for you?”

    Bard wanted to say yes, even though it wasn’t true. He wanted to defy Thranduil. He wanted to defy the distance he was trying to put between them. But Bard didn’t have any ammunition to break down the irrefutable wall Thranduil was placing here. He didn’t have anything at all. Not even Thranduil, it seemed.

    “What if I applied with you?” he said. It was a desperate impulse, born from his unwavering desire to simply _be_ with Thranduil. Why couldn’t he be with Thranduil? Why was he going away?

    It was Thranduil’s turn to laugh. A little harshly, but Bard figured it was mostly out of pity. “And what? Leave as well? What about your friends?”

    “They’re your friends too,” Bard rebuked fiercely. “I know you don’t really believe that, but they are, and you’re leaving them as well as me.”

    Thranduil didn’t say anything. He just looked sad and sorry and Bard didn’t know if he wanted to hit him or hug him. How was this justified? How was it rational that he would leave, and not even question the choice to do so? It seemed to Bard that Thranduil’s decision was final, and that he had not given anyone else a second thought.

    “So, that’s it, then?” Bard said. “I’m not worth sticking around for? Not me, not your family, not anyone?”

    Thranduil still couldn’t formulate a response; couldn’t defend himself against Bard’s anger. When had he ever? When had he ever been anything but perfectly amiable towards Bard? There had never been any dissention between them, because Bard’s temper just rebounded off Thranduil. He had never met anyone like that. How was he supposed to cope if Thranduil left? Where was all that raw feeling going to go?

    “I’m sorry, Bard. I didn’t mean for things to get this far. You’re really important to me, and I don’t want to drag you into something that won’t make you happy.”

    Bard thought about how happy Thranduil made him just by being around; just by smiling at him, or lending him a pen. He thought that happiness could have been enough to heal him. But, maybe not.

    “Why do you have to go to uni so far away?” he said.

    Thranduil sighed. “I just… need to get away for a while.”

    “I see.”

    A pause fell between them, weighted and unwanted. Bard couldn’t think of anything else to say.

    “I really am sorry,” Thranduil said again. “I still want us to be friends.”

    Bard couldn’t loosen the hard knot forming in his chest, growing and twisting and hating. He realised that, above all else, he felt betrayed by Thranduil.

    It was a selfish way to think, he knew that. Bard couldn’t expect Thranduil to revolve his life around him – nobody was worth that kind of sacrifice. But that didn’t lessen the hurt, and it didn’t make Bard’s feelings for Thranduil disappear.

    “Forget it,” he said at last. “I’ll see you around.”

    He walked away, leaving Thranduil in the shadowy corner of the library where nobody wandered. The optimism he’d had that morning felt now like a misty dream; a dream of a dream, and that was all.

 

    In the end, the snow let up. The icy weather was soon replaced with not-so-icy weather, and the daffodils came into bloom around the edges of the school campus. Spring was creeping into the remnants of winter, and the world was coming back to life again.

    The end of February came and went, and Bard didn’t hand in any university preferences. He spent his time looking at part-time jobs, instead, or apprenticeships available to him after graduation. It was dull and discouraging, but it was still better than facing that fact that all his friends would be going to university without him. All he could think was that, at least this way, he would have something to keep him occupied.

    “Cheer up,” said Glorfindel one lunch time before football practice. “If you change your mind at the end of the year, you might still get in somewhere decent. With your grades, anyone would be glad to have you.”

    “I guess,” Bard said moodily, spinning out the stem of his apple. He wasn’t willing to admit that his grades had begun to drop. Studying was harder when he didn’t have Thranduil around to help him read the text, or to exchange notes with, or to just sit with when it was too quiet.

    “Did you hear about the camp they’re organising next month?” Egalmoth digressed. “Up in the mountains? It looks mint.”

    “You guys have camp here?” said Bard, perking up.

    “Camp for the seniors is different every year,” Glorfindel followed up eagerly. “Last year was a city camp, but this year looks like it’s near Erebor. It supposed to still be snowing up there.”

    “I like controlled snow,” said Egalmoth. “Like, I don’t want snow to come to me. Nah. Let _me_ go to snow, and make it my bitch.”

    Next to Egalmoth, Ecthelion choked on his drink with what could have been amusement, but was most likely repulsion.

    “How about it?” Glorfindel prompted to Bard. “You have to give up a few days of term break, but it’s worth it. They let you do whatever you want.”

    “I’ll think about it,” said Bard. “Sounds like fun.”

    The conversation drifted to last year’s city camp, reminiscing about the fun they had had. Bard’s eyes wandered, and he saw Thranduil walking passed, a flick of silver, his bag swinging on his shoulder. They exchanged the briefest of glances before Bard bowed his head and looked away. He didn’t miss the pitiful expression on Thranduil’s face, however, and it caught at his chest painfully.

    “You guys still aren’t talking, huh?” said Ecthelion, taking note of the interaction.

    Bard slumped forward on the bench. “No.”

    “Man, I thought you guys could stick through anything,” said Glorfindel consolingly. “It makes me kind of sorry, you know? Thranduil was really happy. But now he’s just back to how he was before you came. Like he just… switched off, or something.”

    Bard said nothing, but he knew all too well what Glorfindel meant. In the weeks following Valentine’s Day, Bard had noticed more and more how quiet and withdrawn Thranduil had become. If Bard wasn’t so hyperaware of him, he would have forgotten about him completely.

    “I still think it’s stupid that he’s going to Tirion,” Glorfindel said hotly.

    He had repeated this many times over the past month in an attempt to coddle Bard’s sulkiness, but it didn’t help. It only made Bard feel worse, really. He felt bad to push Thranduil away like this, when it was clear that now, more than ever, he needed a friend; someone to hold onto, in spite of his choices. It wasn’t justified on Bard’s part to behave so selfishly, but he still couldn’t get passed the used, grimy feeling in his chest from being turned down after so much build up. All that love had amounted to nothing, but it was still there, filling him up with light.

    Bard knew it was up to him to repair the damage if he wanted to stay friends with Thranduil. It was up to him to close the gap, and smooth out the creases, because Thranduil wouldn’t. A part of Bard wanted to stay sullen and unreasonable, but a bigger part of him missed Thranduil too much.

    But, in many ways, it was too late. A whole month had gone by without them speaking a word to each other. Bard wasn’t sure if fallings-out had an expiry date for patching things up, but he figured a month was well passed the cut-off time.

    They finished eating, and Glorfindel and Bard retired to the oval where the rest of the team were beginning to set up for practice. They were all optimistic about their upcoming match with Rhûn. After the victory against Eriador the other week, Rhovanion was on an unstoppable streak to the finals.

    To Bard’s surprise, Thranduil was on the field, talking to Finduilas. She was in the middle of tying up her hair when she suddenly gasped and let it all drop down her back again. Bard watched as she ran off to the locker room.

    “I wonder what that’s all about,” he said to Glorfindel.

    Thranduil was waiting for Finduilas, but when he spotted Glorfindel, he walked over. Bard sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He wanted to leave before Thranduil reached them, but knew it would be too obvious that he was avoiding him; too petty.

    “What’s up?” said Glorfindel when Thranduil was within hearing.

    “Finduilas and I have our Critical Thinking exam now,” Thranduil said, not looking at Bard. “I had a feeling she’d forgotten.”

    Bard realised that it was the first time since Valentine’s Day that he and Thranduil had been this close to each other for longer than two seconds. It felt like he was seeing Thranduil for the first time again; long eyelashes, wide mouth, eyes so blue they could have been mistaken for a summer sky. Bard could smell the shampoo he used, and he remembered the week in autumn when he had stayed at Thranduil’s house, and fallen in love with him.

    Bard hadn’t noticed the other two still talking until Finduilas came running over, her bag over her shoulder and a harassed look on her face.

    “How much time do we have?” she asked Thranduil.

    Thranduil checked his phone. “We still have ten minutes. It starts at twelve-fifteen.”

    Finduilas breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Thranduil.”

    He grinned, and Bard had to look away.

    “Good luck!” Glorfindel cheered.

    Bard didn’t say anything. Once Thranduil and Finduilas were gone, he headed for the locker room to get changed. Glorfindel appeared to take note of his resolute silence, but chose not to comment.

    However, as they put on their boots and jersey’s, Bard had a thought.

    “Have you spoken to Thranduil?” he said. “You know. About. Us.”

    Glorfindel’s head emerged from the neck of his jersey, and he frowned. “I tried asking him, but you know what he’s like. It’s anyone’s guess how he’s feeling right now.”

    “Yeah.”

    Bard wished there was something he could do; something he had the courage to do. Despite their failings, he still cared for Thranduil, and he still felt the need to make sure he was okay. As upset as Bard was about the outcome of their relationship, he knew, deep down, that Thranduil hadn’t meant to hurt him. He had simply made a choice, and it wasn’t his fault that Bard reacted badly to it.

    At first, Bard had reasoned that he needed space – that they both needed space – but that space turned quickly into a gap, and now the gap couldn’t be closed. Bard regretted his actions. He missed Thranduil. But he didn’t know how to go back and apologise. He couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal. The heartache wouldn’t leave him.


	19. antistrophe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil lends a helping hand, Bard claims a table, and Celebrían interferes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Properly, for now. I managed to find the rhythm of the story somewhat. I also caught us up in the timeline, funnily enough. The Friday at the end of this chapter is this same Friday (31st), for those of you who like to know when we are. With any luck, I'll keep up weekly updates (Friday's now). I'm conveniently on break now as well, and I have nothing to do because it kind of caught me by surprise, so hopefully I'll find the motivation to write.  
>   
> Thanks again for all your comments and kudos! I love you all to pieces! I hope you enjoy the chapter.

* * *

  

**Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other.**

 

* * *

 

“… and don’t forget, sign-up’s for camp close at the end of the week. You can get forms from the Senior Coordinator’s office. If you’re not eighteen yet, you do have to get your parent’s signature on the permission slip.”

    Aredhel paused to yawn and take a sip of her coffee. 

    “Lastly, we will be performing a lockdown drill during period six, so keep that mind.”

    Glorfindel’s hand shot up into the air, and he spoke without being first addressed. “Miss, I thought you weren’t supposed to tell us about drills. Isn’t that the whole point of them?”

    Aredhel didn’t have any reason to disapprove of this question, but she offered Glorfindel a withering glare all the same.

    “We will be practicing a new evacuation program,” she explained, “so those of you who have free periods in the afternoon will be expected to stay at school until the drill is over.”

    A couple of people in the class groaned despairingly, but their cries went without sympathy. Aredhel dismissed the class and left for her first lesson.

    Thranduil stood from his desk, gathering his things and intent on following her. He was about to leave, but his head was abruptly arrested into a headlock, and he dropped his phone on the floor.

    “What do you say?” Glorfindel crooned, letting Thranduil go with a flourish. “Will you go on camp?”

    Thranduil rubbed his neck irritably, bending down to pick up his phone. “I don’t know. I was going to use term break to start studying for exams.”

    Glorfindel scoffed. “There’s still over a month until exams! This will be our last chance to have some downtime before we’re tossed into the eternal abyss of standardised testing.”

    Thranduil was still unconvinced. It was all well and good for Glorfindel, who had a scholarship, to have such an easy-going attitude towards exams, but Thranduil didn’t feel nearly quite as confident. His application for Tirion had been accepted, sure, but that didn’t guarantee him entrance. He needed an almost perfect score to get in so, realistically, he should have started studying weeks ago.

    But Glorfindel didn’t see things that way. He lived very much in the moment, and while that usually grounded Thranduil to the present somewhat, it wasn’t about to sway him this time.

    “Everyone else is going,” Glorfindel added, smiling brightly. “It won’t be the same without you.”

    Thranduil highly doubted this. He knew Glorfindel was just trying to mollycoddle him. Thranduil had barely spoken to anyone from their group of friends lately, so it wouldn’t really make a difference whether he went to camp or not. And why should he go where he wasn’t wanted? He didn’t see anyone next to Glorfindel, asking him to go. It was like the beach day all over again; Glorfindel begging Thranduil, and nobody else taking any notice of him. 

    “I’ll think about it,” he finally said, hoping Glorfindel would take it for the ‘no’ that it was.

    The bell rang, so the remaining students in the classroom began to file out, slinging heavy bags over their shoulders and frowning. Thranduil caught up his own bag and headed for his Literature class in the neighbouring building.

    Bard was already there, and the seat next to him was taken by Celebrían, who was talking to him animatedly. Distracted by the arrival of the rest of the class traipsing through the doorway, Bard’s eyes met Thranduil’s briefly. Thranduil smiled, just like he always tried to do when they caught each other’s attention, but Bard lowered his head and resumed listening to Celebrían.

    Thranduil swallowed the knife in his throat and took a seat at the back of the classroom.

    He didn’t know what to do anymore. He didn’t know how to take back the hurt he’d inflicted. Bard’s reaction was ultimately reasonable, but Thranduil hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t expected Bard to completely ignore him.

    Thranduil half wished he had responded differently to Bard’s question. Perhaps it might have worked out between them, if only for a little while; if only for a short, dreamy summer. But Thranduil knew he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he had. It would only have delayed the hurt, and therefore made it worse. Thranduil knew he had made the right decision, even though it felt wrong.

    It was too late to change his mind now, anyway. Bard didn’t seem ready or eager to forgive Thranduil, and Thranduil was just going to have to accept it, regardless of the fact that, without Bard, he felt like more than a ghost than ever. He felt forgotten, even by his friends.

    At the front of the classroom, Aredhel was still finishing her coffee. Her morning class on Mondays never did agree with her, and it was with a hard tone and a sharp finger on her desk that she asked her students to bring up their essays for marking.

    Thranduil dug his assignment out of his bag and went to give it over, but he hesitated for a second when he saw Bard at Aredhel’s desk, looking sheepish and, in many ways, upset. Curiosity getting the better of him, Thranduil approached the desk and caught a few words of the conversation.

    “– good enough. You should have come to me straight away if you were having trouble. I can’t give you an extension, not with exams coming up.”

    “Just until the end of the day, then,” Bard said desperately. “Can I e-mail it to you?”

    Aredhel pursed her lips. “Fine, but I’ll have to take ten marks off your score. And we’re analysing a film this lesson, so I want to see you paying attention.”

    Thranduil walked quickly back to his seat before Bard could turn around and realise he had been listening. He felt a heaviness in his heart. He wondered if Bard needed help, and if he had needed it all this time. Thranduil felt bad enough about the state of their relationship, but if Bard’s grades were suffering because of the decision he had made, then he was about to feel much worse.

 

    He wasn’t sure if it would amount to anything, but Thranduil resigned himself for whatever possible outcome and skipped his Global Politics class. He knew Bard had free periods during this time and, when Thranduil stuck his head through the door, he found him in the Library, sitting at a desk by the window. Though the cold of autumn did not desist, it was a sunny day, and even Thranduil thought it was a shame to be stuck inside writing an essay.

    He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the skittering ache in his chest. He sometimes forgot how breathless Bard made him feel, even when he was angry. There was just so much of him in Thranduil’s heart.

    He closed the library door and went over to where Bard was. He was sitting with his legs crossed on the plastic chair, reading _The Bacchae._

    “Hi,” Thranduil said. He nearly choked on the word. He had never been so nervous in his entire life.

    Bard looked up. He had evidently not recognised Thranduil’s voice because his expression changed from intrigue to disappointment. Thranduil tried not to take it personally.

    “Um, hi,” Bard returned uncertainly.

    This was the first time they had spoken in over a month. Thranduil thought he could feel that whole month in loneliness, tearing him up and blinding him. When he saw Bard now, all he could see was light, happy wonder, and every breathless hour of youth they had spent together. Thranduil was beginning to think he had made the wrong choice.

    “Do you need help?” he asked.

    Bard blinked, clearly stunned. For a moment, Thranduil thought he was going to be ignored again, but Bard managed a short, very reluctant nod, and Thranduil exhaled. He took a chair from another desk and sat down opposite Bard before either of them could change their minds.      

    “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Bard said.

    Thranduil wasn’t sure if Bard wanted a proper explanation or just a yes or no answer, so he settled for a curt nod as he retrieved his copy of _The Bacchae_ from his bag. Bard frowned, but otherwise didn’t object.

    “Which prompt are you doing?” Thranduil asked.

    Bard looked down at the essay cover sheet. “Number three. But I don’t understand what happened in the play. I couldn’t follow it.”

    Thranduil didn’t seem surprised by this. It was not a harsh judgment on Bard’s part, but simply an understanding. Many students had expressed their trouble concerning the play, but Bard never raised his hand for help. Thranduil wondered why he was always so hesitant to ask for things like that.

    He sat patiently there with Bard, in the brightly lit corner of the library with their books and leftover feelings for each other. Thranduil offered Bard his notes and helped him formulate his argument for the essay. Bard looked overwhelmed, but determined, and Thranduil was just glad to be talking to him again.

    The chilly midday passed into lunch time, and they took a break to eat and stretch. Bard left the library to do this, and Thranduil knew better than to follow. There was still something hard wedged between them that wouldn’t shift, and Thranduil didn’t know if it was him or Bard who was refusing to shift it.

    “Hey, there you are!”

    Thranduil looked up from his phone screen to see Gil-Galad’s face grinning at him from the library window.  

    “You weren’t in Global,” he remarked. “I never would have pegged you to cut class.”

    Thranduil went a little red, but didn’t comment.

    “Here, Argon gave us exam notes. Stuff he wants us to focus on.”

    Gil-Galad handed over a stack of papers through the window.

    “Thanks.” Thranduil put them away.

    “What are you doing, anyway? When I told Glorfindel you weren’t in class, he got so worried he nearly had an aneurysm. He probably wants me to report back.”

    “He could have just texted me,” Thranduil said.

    “He left his phone at home. He’s really wound up today.”

    “Right. I’m just… helping Bard with his essay.”

     Gil-Galad’s smile grew into a wide, shit-eating grin. “Oh yeah? Alright, I won’t intrude. You kids have fun!”

    Before Thranduil could protest to such an accusation, Gil-Galad jumped down from the window and slipped out of sight. A few moments later, Bard returned. He snapped the piece of gum in his mouth and dropped back into his chair.

    “I’ll probably ditch Math to finish this,” he said tonelessly. “You can go if you want.”

    “I have to stay for the lockdown,” Thranduil said.

    “Oh yeah.”

    The back of Thranduil’s neck prickled. “But, um, if you don’t need any more help, I’ll move.”

    He started to collect his books and pens, but Bard extended a hand to stop him.

    “No, don’t. It’s – it’s fine.”

    Thranduil raised an eyebrow. Bard’s hand had been close to his wrist. He wanted very badly for them to touch, but he forced himself to pull his arm out of reach.

    They worked in silence after that, Bard using Thranduil’s notes to write his essay. Thranduil made flashcards for Chemistry, doing them neatly and slowly, as if it would somehow preserve the moment with Bard for as long as possible. He hated that there was so little left for them to say to each other. Once upon a time – a month, though it felt like a lot more than that – they had wasted hours on conversation, talking about books and movies and conspiracy theories and, more often than not, nothing at all. Thranduil missed those conversation the most; the ones when they hadn’t spoken about anything.

    The bell rang for the end of lunch, and thirty minutes later, the siren for the drill spread across the school like a soundwave. The librarian instructed the few students in the library to duck down under tables, out of sight of the windows. Bard and Thranduil sat on the floor beneath their desk. Bard kept writing his essay, resting his notebook on his knee.

    “Do you want me to proof read it when you’re done?” Thranduil asked quietly.

    “Thanks,” said Bard.

    Thranduil decided not to say more. He sat against the wall with his knees up, counting how many pieces of gum were stuck and dry under the table.

    As he was counting, he saw Bard’s hand reach up and add to the collection.

    Thranduil wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

    Bard grinned, not looking away from what he was writing. “This is my desk. People need to know.”

    “I sit here too, you know. This was my desk first,” Thranduil said indignantly.

    “I don’t see your gum here to prove it,” Bard quipped.

    Thranduil couldn’t stop himself from smiling, and then from laughing. Bard was laughing too.

    The librarian came around to take down their names, and then the drill was over. Bard and Thranduil crawled back out from under the table and took their seats again. Bard produced his essay.

    “It’s shit,” he stated.

    Thranduil started reading. He made a few corrections here and there, mostly to do with grammar and word choice, but it was a well-rounded and thoughtful essay, and he said so when he handed it back to Bard.

    “Your contention needs to be reworded, but otherwise it’s fine.”

    “Thanks.”

    Bard sighed, leaning back in his chair and browsing through Thranduil’s corrections. He looked tired – deep in his bones tired. Thranduil was sorry there wasn’t more he could do.

    “I’m not going to have enough time to type it up. I have to work today,” Bard said.

    “You got a job?” said Thranduil.

    Bard looked a little bemused by this question at first, but he quickly remembered that he and Thranduil weren’t supposed to be speaking.

    “Yeah, at the new café bar in town.”

    “Oh. That’s cool,” Thranduil said.

    He felt an uncomfortable niche in his chest, deep and brimming with jealousy. He was out-of-place and ghostly in Bard’s life – only observing from afar, like some spectator of events he used to be a part of, but wasn’t anymore. So many days and weeks, and Thranduil felt like he had missed out on a lifetime.

    Bard cocked his head to the side, watching Thranduil’s face. Thranduil blushed and looked away. He didn’t fancy being studied right now.

    “Thanks for the help,” Bard said, getting to his feet and shouldering his bag. “It – um – really –”

    He paused, and Thranduil waited for him to finish. But Bard didn’t seem capable, so he smiled awkwardly and left the library.

    Thranduil rubbed his face. In hindsight, that afternoon could have gone a lot worse, but it still left him feeling… something. He didn’t know what he was feeling. He just knew he didn’t want to anymore.

    He stayed in the library until the end of the day. Ten minutes before the bell was set to ring, Thranduil packed up his belongings and went to pick up his siblings from school.

 

    Having only one passenger seat in his car proved for some interesting drives with his brother and sister. Thranduil was getting tired of the two of them bickering over who got the window-side and who had to sit with the gearstick digging into their leg. He thought about setting up a rotation, but he knew Tauriel wouldn’t follow it.

    “Why didn’t you just get a normal car?” Legolas grumbled as Tauriel stuck her hand out the window happily, waving goodbye to her friends in the primary school courtyard.

    “Because I don’t understand sensible decision-making,” Thranduil responded, pulling onto the road.

    “But Tauriel always gets the window side!”

    “Just wait,” Thranduil warned. “One day, I’ll only be able to pick up one of you from school because you won’t both fit in the car.”

    As he said these words, however, Thranduil realised that by the time Legolas and Tauriel were too big for his car, he wouldn’t be around to pick them up.

    Oropher was already home when the other three arrived. He was sitting at the kitchen table, doing paperwork for the store and eating a bag of pretzels. Thranduil sat down opposite and took a handful.

    “Did we make budget last week?” he asked.

    “Yeah, we did, actually. If this keeps up, I’ll be able to get the front of the store renovated,” Oropher said, showing Thranduil the budget report.

    “You know, I can give you money for stuff like that, if you want,” Thranduil said. “It’s not like I need it for anything.”

    Oropher smiled vaguely. “I know I told you to take your parents money, but not because I wanted it for myself, thanks.”

    “Mum and dad would have really disapproved of you using their money for your shop,” Thranduil said lightly. “It makes the family name look bad.”

    Oropher folded his arms and fixed Thranduil with a knowing looking, but Thranduil only resumed eating pretzels as if he’d said nothing of consequence.

    “I’ll think about it. But, considering how much you donated, I’m surprised you have any money left to give,” Oropher concluded.

    “You should see my bank statements,” Thranduil said. “I earn more in a week than I ever thought I could in a year. I was thinking of setting up regular donations.”

    “You can make some powerful friends if you donate to the right places.”

    Thranduil grimaced. “I’m not… really interested in friends.”

    “It’s just a thought,” Oropher said with a shrug. “Considering you don’t hang out with yours anymore, maybe it’s time to make some new ones.”

    Thranduil let that comment sit for a while, forcing himself not to glare at his uncle for saying it. He didn’t like how observant Oropher could be; even less when he was vocal about it. He was always onto Legolas and Tauriel about their feelings or physical well-being, but he usually left Thranduil alone, because he knew talking about it wouldn’t amount to anything.

    “That was uncalled for,” Thranduil finally said.

    Oropher put down his pen. “Can I be a parent for a second here?”

    “No.”

    “Aside from school, you haven’t left the house in weeks. You can’t expect me not to say something.”

    “I can, actually,” Thranduil said tartly. “It’s none of your business. It doesn’t matter.”

    Oropher sighed. “I’m not going to ask what happened. You’re right; it’s none of my business. But I do want you to rethink your choices. Going to university so far away is a big deal.”

    “I’m not going to be there forever,” Thranduil mumbled.

    “I know. It’s not so much the distance that concerns me, but the reason you’re leaving. I was exactly the same when I was eighteen. But running away only made me want to come home, in the end. It didn’t fix anything.”

    “I’m not running away,” Thranduil said.

    “Then what are you doing? Because, to me, it looks like you’re ready to book it.”

    “Well, what’s so wrong with that? What have I got to keep me here?”

    Thranduil silenced himself at once, rubbing his eyes wearily. He didn’t know why he’d said that. He had so much to keep him in this town, where the trees met the sand and rolling seas. His whole world was here. Bard was here.

    “I’m not saying Tirion is a bad idea,” Oropher said quietly. “I just don’t want you missing out on what’s already right in front of you.”

 

    The arrival of mid-term was breaking out a storm of mixed emotions across the school. While the junior years were desperate for another relaxing fortnight without classes, the seniors were preparing themselves for a long hard slog of studying. Exams were set to start in the week proceeding, and three nights away on camp was close to the only thing stopping them from having a full-on meltdown.

    Thranduil still hadn’t changed his mind about going, even at Glorfindel’s constant insistence. He was determined to do well on his exams, and thus couldn’t afford to let camp get in the way of that. It admittedly sounded quite enticing – hiking, fishing, breathing a different air – but he didn’t want to let himself be tempted by it. Not now, when his future was at stake.

    However, quite aside from being convinced, Thranduil was practically forced into going, and not by Glorfindel. Celebrían caught him in the library on Friday morning.

    “No one’s photos come close to being as good as yours,” she said. “I think it would be a really nice finish to the yearbook.”

    Thranduil almost flinched at the mention of the yearbook. He was beginning to get very tired of hearing about it. “Aren’t you overextending on this thing? You’ve spent so much money on photos you’re not even going to use.”

    Celebrían blushed carefully. “Well, mum gave me permission to work on a separate photo album to accompany the yearbook, so most of the photos will get seen.”

    “Wow.”

    “Please, Thranduil? I’ll even pay for you. Just do me this one last favour.”

    “No! It’s fine. I’ll – I’ll go.” Thranduil already regretted it.

    To his dismay, Celebrían wrapped her arms all around him and squeezed him tightly. Thranduil had to tilt back his head to avoid getting a mouthful of her curly hair.

    “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

    “Noted,” Thranduil said, exhaling as Celebrían let go of him. He had not expected her to be that strong.

    She beamed. “Have you got a new development for me?”

    “Not yet,” Thranduil said. “I still have some shots left on the film. But if you give me your memory stick, I can upload the digital ones I took of the art show and the school play.”

    Celebrían rummaged through her bag to get her memory stick. She thanked Thranduil several more times before letting him leave. On his way out of the library, he ran into Bard.

    They nearly walked into each other, Bard distracted by his phone, transferring a motorcycle helmet into his other hand. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed; messy and still half asleep, his eyes bright and half-lidded. Thranduil remembered seeing him this way in the mornings during term break, stretching and smiling at Thranduil over coffee, cast in the dim light while it rained. Thranduil wondered if they would ever go back to that; he wondered if they could. He often wished he had the ability to take photos instantly wherever he went just for moments like these.

    “Hey.”

    “Hi.”

    “Um, can you tell Caranthir I’ll be late for class? I need to print some stuff,” Bard said.

    “Sure,” Thranduil said with a nod.

    They made way for each other, and the door closed between them. Thranduil thought he left his heart on the other side of it.


End file.
